Glass Book / JACOB ABBOTT'S YOUM CHRISTIAN SERIES. IN FOUR VOLUMES. I. THE YOUNG CHRISTIAN. II. THE CORNER STONE. III. THE WAT TO DO GOOD. IV. HOARYHEAD AND M'DONNER. 'A VERY GREATLY IMPROVED AND ENLARGED. 8ffim$ numerous lEttfltabfugs* NEW YORK- harper Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by HARPER & BROTHERS, la the Clerk's Office for the Southern District of New York. * * k X PREFACE. N The works comprised in the Young Christian series are the following : o I. The Young Christian ; or, a Familiar Illustration of the Principles of Christian Duty. II. The Corner Stone ; or, a Familiar Illustration of tire Principles of Christian Truth. III. The Way to do Good ; or, the Christian Char- acter Mature. IV. Hoaryhead and M'Donner ; or the Radical Na- ture of the Change in Spiritual Regeneration. The Young Christian, the first volume of the series, is intended as a guide to the young inquirer in first en- tering upon his Christian course. Like the other vol- umes of the series, the work is intended, not for chil- dren, nor exclusively for the young, but for all who are first commencing a religious life, whatever their years may be. Since, however, it proves, in fact, that such beginners are seldom found among those who have passed beyond the early periods of life, the author has kapt in mind the wants and the mental characteristics VI PREFACE, of youth, rather than those of maturity, in the form in which he has presented the truths "brought to view, and in the narratives and dialogues with which he has at- tempted to illustrate them. In respect to the theology of the work, it takes every where for granted that salvation for the human soul is to he ohtained through repentance for past sin, and through faith and trust in the merits and atonement of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Its main design, however, is to enforce the practice, and not to discuss the theory, of religion. Its object is simply to explain and illustrate Christian duty, exhibiting this duty, how- ever, as based on those great fundamental principles of faith in which all evangelical Christians concur. The Corner Stone, the second volume of the series, though intended to explain and illustrate certain great religious truths, is not a work of technical theology. Its aim is simply to present, in a plain and very prac- tical manner, a view of some of the great fundamental truths of revealed religion, on which the superstructure of Christian character necessarily reposes. The char- acter and history of Jesus Christ, considered as the chief Corner Stone of the Christian faith, form the main sub- jects of the volume ; and the principles of faith which are brought to view are presented to the reader, as they are seen in the Scriptures, centring in him. PREFACE. The Way to do Good, the third volume of the series, is designed to present a practical view of a life of Chris- tian usefulness, and to exhibit in a very plain and sim- ple manner the way in which a sincere and honest fol- lower of Jesus is to honor his sacred profession and ad- vance his Master's cause, by his daily efforts to promote the welfare and happiness of those around him. Hoaryhead and M'Donner, the fourth and last vol- ume of the series, consists of two connected tales, de- signed to illustrate the very radical character of the change by which the Christian life is begun. In the treatment of the various topics discussed in these volumes, the author has made it his aim to divest the subject of religion of its scholastic garb, and to pre- sent in all plainness and simplicity, and in a manner adapted to the intellectual wants of common readers, the great fundamental principles of truth and duty. It is now many years since the volumes of this series were first issued, and during that time they have been pub- lished, in whole or in part, very extensively through- out the Christian world. Besides the wide circulation which the series has enjoyed in this country, numerous editions, more or less complete, have been issued in En- gland, Scotland, Ireland, France, Germany, Holland, India, and at various missionary stations throughout Vlll PREFACE. the globe. The extended approbation which the Chris- tian community have thus bestowed upon the plan, and the increasing demand for copies of the several volumes, have led to the republication of the series at this time in a new and much improved form. The works have all been carefully revised by the author for this edition, and they are embellished with numerous illustrative engravings, which it is hoped may aid in making them attractive for every class of readers. New York, February, 1855. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. Paga THE DEITY, 13 CHAPTER IT. THE MAN CHRIST JESUS, ........ 57 CHAPTER III. HUMAN DUTY, . .75 CHAPTER IV. HUMAN NATURE, 102 CHAPTER V. PUNISHMENT, . . ." 130 CHAPTER VI. PARDON, 161 A* X CONTENTS. CHAPTER VII. Page THE LAST SUPPER, 194 CHAPTER VIII. THE CRTJCIFIERS, 232 CHAPTER IX. THE PARTLNG COMMAND, ...... 273 CHAPTER X. THE PARTING PROMISE, 321 CHAPTER XL THE CONCLUSION, 357 ENGRAVINGS. Page JOSEPH AND MARY, 13 THE WALK IN THE GARDEN, ...... 28 SUMMER, 34 WINTER, 36 SOLITUDE, . 64 THE WINTER NIGHT, 70 THE LOST CAP, 82 THE WALK, 97 THE MOTHER, 106 THE PROSPECT, 123 THE FORGER, 132 ALONE, 152 THE TEMPTATION, 154 THE FALLEN STUCCO, 164 THE HOSPITAL, 175 FAITH, 184 JERUSALEM, 195 THE DIRECTIONS, .219 THE PIT, 235 judas, 247 THE PALACE, 253 CRUCIFY HIM, 264 BEHOLD THE MAN. 266 XU ENGRAVINGS. Page THE FRIENDS, 288 THE WIDOW, . 301 THE HARMLESS SERPENT, 306 THE WITHERED HAND, 326 THE COLLEGE, 330 THE INTRUSION, . . 332 THE MEETING, .351 THE SEA-SHORE 367 THE PLANTING, . 374 THE SCHOOL-BOY, 8 378 THE COBOR-STOO CHAPTER I. THE DEITY. "The glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ. 11 Address to the reader. . " If any man will do his will, he shall know of the doc- trine ;" so said the Savior, and the obvious inference from it is, that we are to act up to the light we have, before we seek for more. Reader, are you doing God's will? This book is intended to explain such of the elementary principles of the gospel of Christ, as are necessary to supply the most 14 THE CORNER-STONE. Preparation of the heart. The caravan. Night. pressing wants of a human soul hungering and thirsting after righteousness ; but this Gospel, the Bible assures us, can not be understood, unless the heart is ready to comply with its claims. If you have not confessed your sins therefore, and asked forgiveness, if you do not habitually strive against temptation, seeking help from above, if you do not aim at doing the will of God in your daily pursuits, I earnestly ad- vise you to go to God before you proceed farther, and implore his forgiveness for the past, and in the most solemn and em- phatic manner, commit yourself to him for^ the future. Whatever difficulties in your mind hang around the subjects connected with religious truth, you certainly know enough to see that this is a duty, and you can not neglect or postpone obedience to it without doing violence to conscience, and dis- pleasing God. Do it, then, before you proceed any farther. You will then have God's guidance and assistance as you go on. You will be preserved from error and led into the truth. Your heart being opened, the instruction which this volume may present, will enter into it, and contribute to its improve- ment and happiness. But it will do no good to go on heap- ing up the truth before the door of your heart, so long as the door is securely barred against its admission. Some centuries ago, a large, a very large company were traveling northwardly in early summer, through a lovely country, whose hills and valleys were clothed with the fig- tree, the olive, and the vine. They journeyed slowly and without anxiety or care, for their route lay through a quiet land, the abode of peace and plenty. Friends and acquaint- ances were mingled together in groups, as accident or inclina- tion might dictate, until the sun went down, and the ap- proach of evening warned them to make preparations for rest. While the various families were drawing off together for this purpose, the attention and the sympathy of the mul THE DEITY. 15 The lost child. An anxious search. Jerusalem at eveming. titude were excited by the anxious looks and eager inquiries of a female, who was passing from group to group, with sor- row and agitation painted on her countenance. It was a mother, who could not find her son. It was her only son, and one to whom, from peculiar circumstances, she was very strongly attached. He had never disobeyed her ; — he had never given her unnecessary trouble, and the uncommon maturity of his mental and moral powers had probably led her to trust him much more to himself than in any other case would be justifiable. He was twelve years old, and she supposed that he had been safe in the company, but now night had come, and she could not find him. She went anx- iously and sorrowfully from family to family, and from friend to friend, inquiring with deep solicitude, " Have you seen my son ?" He was not to be found. No one had seen him, and the anxious parents left their company, and inquiring carefully by the way, went slowly back to the city whence they had come. The city was in the midst of a country of mountains and valleys. Dark groves crowned the summits, and richly culti- vated fields adorned their sides. The road meandered along the glens and vales, sharing the passage with the streams which flowed toward a neighboring sea. The city itself spread its edifices over the broad surface of a hill, one ex- tremity of which was crowned with the spacious walls and colonnades of a temple, rising one above another, the whole pile beaming probably in the setting sun, as these anxious parents approached it, in ail the dazzling whiteness of marble and splendor of gold. The parents however could not have thought much of the scene before them. They had lost their son. With what anxious and fruitless search they spent the evening and the following morninsr. we do not know. They 16 THE CORNER-STONE. The temple. The hoy found. The question and reply. at last however ascended to the temple itself. They passed from court to court, now going up the hroad flight of steps which led from one to the other, now walking under a lofty colonnade, and now traversing a paved and ornamented area. At last in a public part of this edifice, they found a group collected around a hoy, and apparently listening to what he was saying ; the feeling must have been mingled interest, curiosity and surprise. It was their son. His uncommon mental and moral maturity had by some means shown itself to those around him, and they were deeply interested in his questions and replies. His mother, for the narrative, true to nature and to fact, makes the mother the foremost parent in eveiy thing con- nected with the search for their son, does not reproach him. She asked him why he had stayed behind, and gently reminded him of the sorrow and suffering he had caused them. He gave them a reply which, she could not fully understand, and the feelings with which twelve years of intercourse, such as no mother ever before had with a son, had inspired her for him, forbade her pressing him for an explanation. " She laid his words up in her heart" With what a strange mixture of affection and wonder, and ardent but respectful regard, must the mother of Jesus have habitually looked upon her son. A boy who had never spoken an impatient or disrespectful word, who had never manifested an unkind or a selfish feeling, who had never dis- obeyed, never failed in his duty, but had, for twelve long years, never given father or mother an unnecessary step, or a moment's uneasiness, or neglected any thing which could give them pleasure. My reader, are you still under your father's roof ? If so, try the experiment of doing in every respect for a single week, your duty to father and mother ; fill your heart with kindness and love to them, and let your words and your actions be in all respects controlled by these THE DEITY. 17 Mary'e feolings toward her son. His appearance and character. feelings ; — be the disinterested and untiring friend and helper of your little brothers and sisters ; — in a word, do your whole duty, in the family of which you form a part, making filial affection and respect the evident spring, and you will fill a mother's heart with gladness at the change. You can then a little understand the deep tide of enjoyment, which must have filled Mary's heart, during the childhood of her spotless son. What, too, must have been the progress of this child's mind, in knowledge and wisdom. A mind, never allured away by folly, or impeded by idleness, or deranged by pas- sion. Conceive of a frame too, which no guilty indulgence of appetite or propensity had impaired, and a countenance which was bright with its- expression of intelligence and energy, and yet beaming with kindness and love. It was the perfection of human nature, the carrying out to its limit, of all which God originally intended in the creation of man. And why was it so ? How has it happened, that among the millions upon millions of children who have by disobedience, ingratitude and sin, planted thorns in the parental pillow, and often thrown sadness about the circle in which they moved, this boy had been the only spotless one ? How is it, that he alone had walked in purity, — that he alone had never sinned, never sought selfishly his own, never given a parent pain, never injured a playmate, or returned an impa- tient word, or struck a blow in anger, or harbored a feeling of revenge ? He stands a glorious monument of perfect filial virtue, the more glorious because it is solitary. No other nation or kindred or people or clime, ever furnished such a case, or pretended to furnish one. It is remarkable that among all the endless fables and pretensions of ancient times, no historian or mythologist, no priest or prophet or philoso- pher, has ever pretended to have found a spotless man. The whole world withdraws its pretensions. Every system of re- 18 THE CORNER-STONE. The Deity. Survey of the. universe. ligion, and every school of philosophy stand hack from this field, and leave Jesus Christ alone, the solitary example of perfect moral purity, in the midst of a world lying in sin. The motto of our chapter contains the only explanation. The moral glory which beams upon us in this great example is " THE GLORY OF GoD IN THE FACE OF JeSLS CHRIST.' Almost all young persons are lost and confounded in a - tempting to obtain any clear conceptions of the Deity, or rather I should say, they are embarrassed and perplexed by many false and absurd impressions, which come up with them from childhood, and which cling to them very obsti- nately in riper years. Let us turn away, then, a short time from the history of the child Jesus, that we may look a little into this subject. It is not an easy one. It will require pa- tient thought and close attention. You ought to pause, from time to time, as you read the following paragraphs, to look within and around you, and to send forth your conceptions far away in the regions into which I shall attempt to guide them. And above all, remember that if ever you need divine assist- ance, it is when you attempt to look into the nature and character of that Power which is the origin and the support of all other existence. In the first place, let us take a survey of the visible uni- verse, that we may see what manifestations of God appear in it. Let us imagine that we can see with the naked eye all that the telescope can show us, and then in order that we may obtain an uninterrupted view, let us leave this earth, and ascending from its surface, take a station where we can look, without obstruction, upon all around. As we rise above the summits of the loftiest mountains, the bright and verdant re- gions of the earth begin to grow dim. City after city, and stream after stream fade away from view, and at length we pee the whole earth itself rolling away on its course, and re- flecting from its surface a uniform and silvery light. As the THE DEITY. 19 The sun. The moon. last breath of its atmosphere draws off from us, it leaves us in the midst of universal night, with a sky extending without interruption all around us, and bringing out to our view in every possible direction, innumerable and interminable vistas of stars. They grow fainter and fainter in the distance, till they are lost in measureless regions, too remote to be seen, but which are still as full and as brilliant as those which are near. In one quarter of the heavens, we do indeed see the sun, shining in all its splendor, but as there is now no atmosphere around us to reflect its rays, they produce no general illumination, and the dazzling splendor of his disk beams out from a dark nocturnal sky. The stars beyond him, bright or faint, as they are nearer or more distant, send to us their beams entirely unobstructed by his rays. We have thus the whole visible universe open to our view, so far as telescopic vision will carry us into its remoter re- gions. Let us look at it in detail. - Do you see yon moon-like looking planet, gliding almost imperceptibly toward us on its way ? From that portion of its surface which is turned toward the sun, it reflects to us a silvery light, while the rest of its form is in shadow and un- seen. As it approaches us it enlarges and swells until it fills the whole quarter of the sky whence it comes. Its illumin- ated surface is turned more and more from us as it passes between us and the sun, and as it wheels majestically by us, we see, dimly indeed, for we look upon its shaded side, broadly extended regions crowded with life and vegetation. The mighty mass however passes on ; a bright line of light be- gins to creep in upon its western limb. The darkened sur- face gradually fades from our view, and we soon see nothing but the shining crescent, which dwindles to a point, as this mighty world of life, covered with verdure and thronged with population, wheels away, and takes its place among the stars of the evening sky, itself soon the faintest star of all, 20 THE CORXER-STOXE, Jupiter ; his satellites. Distance. Exact regularity. In another quarter of the heavens, we see a larger planet •whose surface it would take the swiftest human travelei hundreds of years merely to explore ; but it beams mildly upon us from its distant orbit, a little gilded ball. . There are four bright points in the sky near it ; two on each side, so minute as to be almost invisible, and yet shin- ing with a clear and steady light, except when in their reg- ular revolution round their parent orb, they disappear behind him, or are lost in his shadow. The whole group, the moons and the mighty mass around which they revolve, sweep on in their annual circuit with a velocity almost inconceivable, but in their measureless distance, their motion is to us so nearly imperceptible, that we must watch them days or weeks to be satisfied that they move at all. Measureless distance, did I say ? No. The Creator of tins moving world has framed an intellect which has exactly surveyed the bounds of this mighty orbit. The distance of this planet is measured, and its mighty mass is weighed, as accurately as any distance, or any weight, can be ascertained ; and human calculation will tell precisely what situation, at any instant, hundreds of years hence, the planet itself and every one of its satellites will have assumed. The maker of this machinery set it in motion at least six thousand years ago, and yet so precise, so unaltered, and unalterable is the regularity with which it goes on, that its revolutions constitute now the very standard of exactness among men. By these revolutions, an observer in the remotest lands finds what is the exact time at his distant home, and learns the very dis- tance which separates him from it. Jupiter and his satellites constitute in fact an illuminated clock, which God has placed in the heavens, and whose motions he regulates so as to make it an unerring guide to man. . Turn now to another quarter, and you see far, far beyond all that we have yet observed, a brilliant star, the brightest THE DEITY. 21 Sirius. The panorama of the universe. Childish illusion. among all the constellations around. It is Sirius ; the fixed unaltered Sirius. He has been watched for ages, and gazed upon by ten thousand eyes, but no one has discovered in him the slightest motion or change. He keeps his precise place among the feebler companions around him. His luster never waxes nor wanes. No telescope will enlarge or alter him, or bring him nearer, and from two stations a hundred and ninety millions of miles apart, he appears in the same place, and shines with the same brightness, and his unalterable beam comes apparently from the same direction. But inconceivably remote as this star is from us, we can see far, very far beyond him. The eye penetrates between him and those around, away into boundless regions, where the vista stretches on from star to star, and from cluster to cluster, in endless perspective. The faint nebula is perhaps the most remote of all, whose dim and delicately-penciled light, in the very remotest sky, is, every ray of it, the con- centrated effulgence of a blazing sun, so inconceivably dis- tant however, that the united power of all can produce only the vision of a little faint cloud, apparently just ready to melt away and disappear. Such is the scene as it would present itself to an observer, who could escape for an hour from the obstructions to the view at the surface of the earth, and from the dimness and the reflections of our atmosphere. Our globe itself cuts oft one half of the visible universe at all times, and the air spreads over us a deep canopy of blue, which, during the day, shuts out entirely the other half. But were the field open, we should see in every direction the endless perspective of suns and stars as I have described them. And this, too, all around us, — above and below, to the east and to the west, to the north and to the south. The conception of childhood, — and it is one which clings to us in maturer years, — that above the blue sky there is a heaven concealed 12 THE CORNER-STONE. No risible Deity. where the Deity sits enthroned, is a delusive one. God is everywhere. He has formed these worlds, these countless suns, and where we see his works, there we see his presence and agency. But the beautiful canopy above us does not conceal from us a material heaven beyond. The Deity is the all-pervading power, which lives and acts throughout the whole. He is not a separate existence having a special habitation in a part of it. If we look in every direction through this magnificent scene, we behold proofs of the active presence, of the Deity in it all, but there is no mate- rial temple, no throne, no monarch with visible tokens of majesty. In fact if there was any quarter of the universe more magnificent than the rest, with a visible potentate seated there wielding his scepter, that visible potentate would not, could not be God. It must be a creation, not the universal, uncaused Creator. It might be a manifestation of the supreme power, but it would not be, and could not be that power itself, which from its very nature is universal in its presence, and which consequently no limits and no place can confine. It will be observed by the reader, that I am speaking here of a heaven considered as the seat of government occupied by a visible Deity on a throne. That the future residence of the happy, will be a definite place, where extraordinary tokens of God's presence, and extraordinary manifestations of his power and glory will be seen, is highly probable. I am speaking only of conceptions which make the Deity himself corporeal, not spiritual, and assign him a special place, instead of regarding him as the great invisible spirit, every part of the wide universe being equally his home. Banish then, for this is the object to which I have been in these paragraphs aiming, all material ideas of a Deity, and do not let your imagination struggle to find its way upward to some material heaven ; with indefinite and idle conceptions THE DEITY. 23 The spirit ; seen only in his works. Various manifestations. of a monarch seated on a throne. The striking and "beauti- ful metaphors of the Bible never were intended to give us this idea. God is a Spirit, it says in its most emphatic tone. A spirit ; that is, he has no form, no place, no throne. Where he acts, there only can we see him. He is the wide- spread omnipresent poioer, which is everywhere employed, — but which we can neither see, nor know, except so far as he shall manifest himself by his doings. If we thus succeed in obtaining just conceptions of the Deity as the invisible and universal poiver, pervading all space, and existing in all time, we shall at once perceive that the only way by which he can make himself known to his creatures, is by acting himself out, as it were, in his works ; and of course the nature of the manifestation which is made will depend upon the nature of the works. In the structure of a solar system, with its blazing center and re- volving worlds, the Deity, invisible itself, acts out its mighty power, and the unerring perfection of its intellectual skill. At the same time, while it is carrying on these mighty move- ments, it is exercising in a very different scene, an untiring industry, and unrivaled taste, in clothing a mighty forest with verdure, bringing out in beauty its millions of opening buds, and painting, by slow and cautious steps, the petal of every flower, and every insect's wing. And so everywhere this unseen and universal Essence, acts out its various attri- butes, by its different works. We can learn its nature only by the character of the effects which spring from it. But I hear my reader say, " I can not dispel the idea that there is above me, somewhere in the lofty sky, the peculiar residence of Jehovah, from which he puts forth, as it were, his arm, and produces all these effects in the more distant regions of his creation ; and I can not but hope that one day I shall see him there." Now doubtless you may reasonably hope to enjoy at some 24 THE CORNER-STONE. Unworthy conceptions of God. future day spiritual realizations of the existence and power and presence of the Deity, far more intimate and vivid than you now even conceive of: hut these realizations can not he by means of any thing like hodily vision. Nothing can he seen by the eye hut form and color, and form and color are not attributes of God. We must dispel all such unworthy conceptions of the supreme. Go out in the evening, and gaze up into the clear sky, till you realize that you can see away into those distant regions, far beyond the sphere which your childish imagination has assigned as the residence of God. Then reflect that the w r hole scene which you thus gaze into, will, in a few hours, be beneath your feet. Try to dispel the illusion, and thoroughly fix in your mind, so that it shall never leave you, the conception that the Deity is the all-pervading, universal and invisible power. He is below, as much as he is above ; for if we could perforate the earth, and look through to what is beneath our feet, we should find there as many worlds, as many blazing suns and shining stars, and as endless perspectives of brightness and beauty, all marking the presence and the agency of God, as we ever see above. This universal essence, then, must display to us its nature, by acting itself out in a thousand places, by such manifesta- tions of itself, as it wishes us to understand. Does God de- sire to impress us with the idea of his power ? He darts the lightning from cloud to cloud, — or rolls the thunder, — or shakes continents by his unseen hand. Does he wish to beam upoji us in love ? What can be more expressive than the sweet summer sunset, and the thousand nameless tints and hues which give its expression of peace and happiness to the landscape, and air, and sky of evening. How can he make us acquainted with his benevolence and skill ? Why by acting them out in some mechanism which exhibits them. He may construct an eye, or a hand for man, filling them THE DEITY. 25 Exhibitions of power ; love ; benevolence ; skill. with ingenious contrivances for our benefit, so numerous, that the very being who uses them may be centuries in exploring their mysterious wonders and yet not learn them all. How can he give us some conception of his intellectual powers ? He can plan the motions of planets, and so exactly balance their opposing forces, that thousands of years shall not accumulate the slightest error, or disturb the unchanging precision of their way. But the great question, after all, is to come. It is the one to which we have meant that all which we have been saying should ultimately tend. How can such a being exhibit the moral principle by which his mighty energies are all controled ? He is an unseen, universal power, utterly invisible to us, and imperceptible, except so far as he shall act out his attributes in what he does. Hoiv shall he act out moral principle ? It is easy by his material creations, to make any impression upon us, which material objects can make ; but how shall he exhibit to us the moral beauty of justice, and benevolence, and mercy between man and man ? How shall he exhibit to us clearly his desire that sorrow and suffering on earth should be mitigated, and injuries forgiven, and uni- versal peace and good- will reign among the members of this great family? Can he do this by the thunder, the lightning or the earthquake ? Can he do it by the loveliness of the evening landscape, or the magnificence and splendor of the countless suns and stars ? No. He might declare his moral attributes as he might have declared his power ; but if he would bring home to us the one, as vividly and distinctly as the other, he must act out his moral principles, by a moral manifestation, in a moral scene ; and the great beauty of Christianity is, that it represents him as doing so. He brings out the purity, and spotlessness, and moral glory of the Divinity, through the workings of a human mind, called into existence for this purpose, and stationed in a most conspicuous B 26 THE CORNER-STONE. W ^ral character displayed in Christ Jesus. Studying God's character, attitude among men. In the movements of a planet we see the energy of the Deity in constant occupation, showing us such powers and principles as majestic motion can show ; and in the moral movements of a mind, in which the energies of a Deity equally mingle, and which they equally guide, we have the far more important manifestation which the move ments of thought and feeling can show. Without some direct manifestation of the Deity in the spiritual world, the display of his character would be fatally incomplete, and it is a beautiful illustration of the more than harmony which exists between nature and revelation, that the latter does thus, in precise analogy, exactly complete what the former had begun. Thus the moral perfections of the divinity show themselves to us in the only way by which, so far as we can see, it is possible directly to show them, by coming out in action, in the very field of human duty, through a mysterious union with a human intellect and human powers. It is God manifest in the flesh ; the visible moral image of an all-pervading moral Deity, himself forever invisible. My object in this chapter, thus far, has been to show my readers, in what way, and on what principles they are to study the character of God. The substance of the view, which I have been wishing to impress upon your minds, is, that Ave are to expect to see him solely through the mani- festations which he makes of himself in his works. We have seen in what way some of the traits of his character are dis- played in the visible creation, and how at last he determined to manifest his moral character, by bringing it into action through the medium of a human soul. The plan was carried into effect, and the mysterious person thus formed appears for the first time to our view, in the extraordinary boy whom we left sitting in the temple, an object of wonder, which must have been almost boundless, since the power which was manifest' THE DEITY. 27 His works examined. An experiment. ing itself in him was unknown. We have now in the suc- ceeding chapters of this book, to follow the circumstances and events of his remarkable history. Before we proceed, however, we have a few things of a practical character to say, which are suggested by this Eiibject. 1. A young Christian may derive great advantage, and enjoy much pleasure in studying the character of God on the principles of this chapter. I do not mean by reading books on the subject, but by making your own observations and reflections upon the scene and the objects around you. There are certain highly wrought contrivances, such as the eye, and the hand, which were long since exhibited as proofs of divine Avisdom, and they have been so exclusively dwelt upon by writers since, as almost to produce the impression upon those who read passively, that these are all, or certainly the chief indications of divine wisdom. Whereas you can not take a walk, or sit at an open window, without finding innumerable examples as unequivocal as these. A young lady of active mind, who was out of health, and forbidden by her physician to read or study, and who com- plained that she did not know how to employ her thoughts, was advised by a friend to take a walk, and see how many proofs of divine contrivance she could find. Such an experi- ment, I would advise all my readers to try. With a very little ingenuity, they will succeed much better than they would imagine. Should any make the attempt, and reduce to writing the result of the observations made, the report might be perhaps somewhat as follows : " From the yard of my father's house I passed through a gate into the garden, intending to cross it and seek for my proofs of design, in the fields and wood beyond. As I passed along the walk, however, I observed several apples lying on 23 THE COP,:\ER-STOXE. The ripe apple's stem. the ground, under a tree. I took up one and found that i* was npe. ,THE WALK IN THE GARDEN, ' ' I began to consider whether there was not design in the smooth tight skin by which the apple was covered, protect- ing it so fully from the rain ; and thought that next spring, when the apples were about half formed, I would carefully pare one while it was on the tree, and then leave it, to see what effect the loss of its skin would have on its future growth " None but the ripe apples had fallen to the ground. It seems then that when the fruit has come to its maturity, it is so contrived as to let go its hold, and fall. There appears to be no natural connection between the maturity of the fruit and the weakness of the stem precisely at its junction with the tree, particularly as the rest of the stem continues strong and sound as before. THE DEITY. 2v Juices. Cells. The -sine and its tendrils. Contraction. " I mellowed one of the apples, as the hoys term it, by striking it rapidly against a smooth post, without however breaking the skin. Before, though it was not very hard, it was firm to the touch, but now it was soft and yielding. What change had I made in its interior ? A ball of wood could not be thus softened by blows. I cut it open. The juice flowed out profusely. If I had cut it open just as it came from the tree, not a drop would have fallen to the ground. I concluded that the sweet liquid had been care- fully put up in little cells, which composed the substance of the fruit, and which had safely retained it until my blows Lad broken them all away, so as to mingle their contents into one mass. I thought how busily the power of God was em- ployed every summer's day, in ten thousand orchards, carrying these juices into every tree, apportioning its proper share to every apple, and conveying each particle to its own minute, invisible cell. " Just then I saw before me, at a little distance, a cucum- ber vine, which had spread itself over the ground, and was clinging to every little sprig and pebble which came in its way. ' How can its little tendrils find what they wish to clasp ?' thought I, as I stooped down to look at them. I observed that the tendrils which did not come into contact with any thing, were nearly or quite straight, though some of them had grown out to a considerable length. Every one however which touched any object, had curled toward it, and some had wound themselves round so many times, that they would break rather than relax their hold. How delicate must be the mechanism of fibers, so contrived that by the mere invitation of a touch, they should curl and grasp the object which is presented. " While looking at this, and observing that the origin of the tendril in the stem of the vine, was always at the ex- act place where a support would be most effectual, I no 30 THE CORNER-STONE. The dew-drop. Its supports. Highly finished work. ticed a small bright drop, which assumed, as I slightly changed my position, bright hues of orange, green, blue, and violet. It was a drop of dew, which lay in a little inden- tation of the leaf. I was admiring the admirable exactness of its form, and the brilliancy of its polished surface, and wondering at the laws of cohesion and of light, which could thus retain every particle in its precise position, and produce images so perfect, and yet so minute, as I saw reflected there, — when I accidentally touched the leaf, and the little world of wonders rolled away. The charm was broken at once ; it vanished upon the wet ground as if it had not been. The spot upon the leaf, where it had been lying for hours, was dry. Thousands of downy fibers, which God had fash- ioned there, had held it up, and similar fibers in countless numbers clothed every leaf, and every stem, and every ten- dril of the whole. I looked over the garden, and was lost in attempting to conceive of the immense number of these deli- cately fashioned fibers, which the all-pervading Deity had been slowly constructing there, during the months that had just gone by. And when I reflected that not only that gar- den, but the gardens and fields of all around me, — the verdure of the whole continent,— of the whole earth, — of unnumbered worlds besides, was all as exquisitely finished as this, the mind shrunk back from the vain effort to follow out the reflection." But enough. Such a narrative might be continued indefi- nitely, and the young Christian who will actually go forth to study God's character in garden and forest, and field, will find no end to his discoveries. And the very substances which are most common, and which he has been accustomed to look upon with the slightest interest, he will find teeming with the most abundant proofs of the Creator's benevolence and skill, and of the boundless resources of his power. Take, THE DEIT\. 31 Waier. The fleecy cloud. Snow-storms and snow-flakes. for instance, water, which, as it lies before us in a bowl, ap- pears as simple, and as little mechanical in its structure, as any thing can possibly be ; and yet weeks would not be sufficient to describe its wonders. See it now gliding in a smooth and gentle current, on its course, over golden sands, enchaining us for hours upon its banks, to gaze upon its rip- pling surface, and into its clear depths, — and now rolling in the billows of the ocean, which toss, with terrific power, the proudest structures that men can frame, as easily as they do the floating sea- weed. Again, it assumes an invisible form, and the same particles, under a different law, float imper- ceptible in the atmosphere, or by their almost resistless re- pulsion, work the mightiest engines which man can construct. The Protean substance again appears to us in the form of a light fleecy cloud, sailing in the clear blue sky. And what is a cloud ? It presents oijly a surface of whiteness to the eye : but it is composed of countless drops, turned to their true spherical form with mathematical precision, and gently descending through the air, as fast as their superior weight can find its way. Every fleecy cloud is in fact a shower, with drops smaller indeed than those of rain, and descending more slowly, and consumed by the warm air below them, before they reach the earth. If we could see the gradual forma- tion and dissipation of such a drop, as particle after particle comes to increase it, or flies away, we should see the opera- tion of the Deity ; and when we think how many clouds and storms sweep over the sky, every minute globule of which must be formed under the hand of God, we shall see how boundlessly multiplied are the operations of his hands. But the half is not yet told. Come out in the snow-storm, and after surveying the vast extent of country buried in its wintry covering, look up into the sky, and estimate, if you can, the millions of descending flakes. Every one of these flak?s, countless as they are, is formed and lashioned after its 32 THE CORNER-STONE. Perfect workmanship. The bubble. Its structure. proper model. It is crystalized in a precise form, every par- ticle takes it precise place, every point of the beautiful star has its proper acuteness, and although in an hour a southern rain is to melt and destroy them all, still not one is neglected, not one is slighted, "but eveiy individual flake of all the mil- lions, is fashioned with as much exactness and care as if it was expressly intended for the examination of the chemist or philosopher. Now think of the vast fields of snow which whiten the arctic regions, — think of the eternal storms which sweep the polar skies, and which follow the retreating sun every season, far down toward his own peculiar climes, and conceive, if you can, the extent of the work, which the all- pervading Deity has continually to do. There is no end to the forms which this simple substance, water, assumes, in the changes through which the Deity carries it. I will mention one rnore, because it illustrates peculiarly the idea that the most common objects are the most extraordinary, if we really look at them with an ob- serving eye. It is the bubble ; one of the most surprising things in nature, and yet one at which nobody ever thinks of being surprised. In order that we may examine it more conveniently, let us imagine it to be enlarged, for it is plain that its character does not depend at all upon its size. Imagine it then to be enlarged ; suppose one, twenty feet in height, were to stand before you. What a magnificent dome ! Pure, transparent, glistening in the sun, and irised by a thousand hues, which float, and wave, and spread in graceful and ceaseless motion on its surface ! And yet this dome is built, by its architect, of what ? Of marble blocks, fitted into one another with the care which man must exercise to construct his arch or dome ? Of iron bars to strengthen the sides and sustain the summit ? ISTo ; but of fluid particles, which glide and swim among each other, as if they had no connection whatever. Thev THE DEITY. 33 Its wonderful mechanism. Intellectual and moral exhibitions. are bound together, firmly and exactly balanced, and yet with such admirable skill., that every one is free to float and move where it will. The edifice is so strong, that if a heavy body falls upon it, it either glides down its side, or cleaves its summit ; and the magic structure safely withstands the shock. It regains in an instant its form, as true, as symmetrical and as perfect as before ; and yet, stable as it thus is, every stone in the edifice is in motion, and glides gracefully, and at per- fect liberty, among the rest. It is indeed a wonder. The laws of reflection and cohesion and equilibrium, which every bubble brings into play, it would require a volume to eluci- date, and yet the mighty operator, seeming to find pleasure in endless occupation, dashes them out in the utmost perfec- tion, under every water-fall ; by means of them he surmounts every one of the countless waves of ocean with its snowy crest, and whitens a hundred thousand miles of sandy beach and rocky shore, with a perpetual fringe of foam. But after all, innumerable and wonderful as are these works of the Deity, these modes of acting out his attributes, there are far more interesting manifestations of his character. For, exciting and animating as are such glimpses as these of the workings of the Almighty, it is only such attributes as skill, power, taste, invention, which are brought into view by them. They are most striking exhibitions it is true, but they are exhibitions of cold intellect only, after all. The splendor of the evening sky, the sublimity of a tempest, the exquisite delicacy of structure which we see in microscopic plants and animals, affect us strongly, but it is little more than a philosophical interest in a power and a skill, so in- finitely varied in its designs, and so admirable in its execu- tion. But you can go much farther than this ; you can examine even in nature, the moral exhibitions of God's character, and as we pass from these examples of mere mechanism, to 34 THE CORNER-STONE. An imaginary walk in June. God is love. those which exhibit to us the moral feelings of the being who performs these works, our hearts are touched. I will take, to illustrate this, cne of the lowest examples of what I mean. It is June. We walk out in some re- tired and uninhahited region, in the midst of the forests, and find all nature thronged with active and happy life. Insects unnum- bered sport in the sun, or skip upon the bright surface of the lake. Nimble animals chase one another upon the branches of the trees, or hide in hollow summer. trunks, or gather nuts and fruits which fall around them, in inexhaustible profusion. And what is all this for ? Perhaps for hundreds of miles around, there is not a human habitation ; no human eye will witness this scene, and no human want will be supplied by any thing that it produces. What is it for ? What motive induces these efforts ? Why, it is because this mighty architect Avhose power is so great, and whose field is so boundless, loves to exercise that power in every corner of that wide-spread field, for the purpose of producing enjoyment. No person can look on such a scene, with any thing like proper views of it, with- out feeling a g'low of new interest and warmer attachment toward its mighty Author. The mere proofs of. power and contrivance and skill, in the specimens of mechanism which W^$£ THE DEITY. 35 The robin and his nest. God's care of him. have been noticed, awaken strong intellectual interest ; — but it touches the heart, and awakens a deeper and warmer emo- tion there, when we see this architect, while actually carry- ing on the mighty mechanism of the heavens, still busily en- gaged in this secluded valley, filling thousands and millions of his creatures with enjoyment, as if taking pleasure in wit- nessing the frolics of an insect ; and drawing so copiously upon his stores of skill and power, to make a squirrel or a robin happy. The robin ; just look for a moment at his nest in the midst of this valley of peace. It is fixed securely in a cluster of branches, sheltered just enough by the foliage around, and in it are three or four tender, helpless, unfledged birds lying to- gether. The open air and the broad sky is over their heads ; nothing but the hanging leaf protects them from an enemy. They have no power to fly, no power to resist ; hunger is coming on and they can not provide food ; but they lie alone and helpless and weak, the very picture of defenselessness and exposure. But they are safe and happy. God makes them his care. They can not bear cold ; God has guarded them against it, by so poising the ponderous earth, and so carefully regulating its motions, that no nipping frost, and no storm of snow can possibly come to desolate their little dwelling. They can not defend themselves from violence or escape from it. True ; ■£nd God has so regulated the instincts and propensities of the n illions of living things around them, that they shall be ex- * jsed to none. They can not provide themselves with food, and it will take but very few hours to bring them to ex- cruciating suffering unless they are supplied. But they will be supplied. God has sent out his messengers to provide for them. One flies from tree to tree in a distant part of the forest, and the other perhaps hops upon the shore of the brook or pond. The trees around them are filled with thou- 36 -HIE CORNER-STONE . The pair. The scene changed. January. sands of other birds, alluring them by their songs, and brightei vales and more shady trees invite them to stay. Bat no. God has bound them to one another and to their helpless young, by a mechanism, as incomprehensible in its nature as it is beautiful in its results. It allows them to fly freely and unfettered as they choose, but it retains its indissoluble hold upon them wherever they go. No song of a stranger will make them forget their own ; no sunny bank or shady grove will have charms enough to detain them ; but faithful to their trust they toil industriously through the day, and un- less death or violence keep them away, they will be ready with their supply, when at night their helpless young open their mouths and cry for food. We can not comprehend the admirable mechanism by which these results are secured, but we love the character which our Father manifests in securing them. But let us change the scene. It is Janu- ary, and we walk out into the same forest, and look upon the same stream which in summer was the scene of so much 'life and ac- tivity and happiness. How changed ! Where are the insects now, which sported in the sunbeams, on the glassy surface of the water ? That surface is still winter. more glassy now,— solid and cold, — and over it scud the dry wreaths of snow before the bloak wind. THE DEITY. 37 Plans for protection. The winter home. Where are now the thousand forms of happy life, which en- livened every bank and fluttered from flower to flower ? Alas ! sunny bank and gay flower, and verdant turf are gone ! The deep snow clothes the whole surface of the ground, covering every smaller plant, and rising around the naked trunks of the tall trees, — hanging in wreaths over the banks, and fast accumulating, as the driving wintry storm brings on fresh supplies from God's inexhaustible treasuries. Where is that happy home among the branches of the tree ? The leaves which sheltered it are gone, a mass of drifting snow marks the spot where the desolate and forsaken habita- tion remains, and the cold dreary wind whistles through the naked branches around. We must remember, too, that it is not in this one spot alone, that this change, and this apparent exhaustion of life has taken place. For thousands of miles, in almost every direction, in June, life and activity and enjoyment were as abundant as in this little dell, and now over all this wide ex- tent winter has spread her reign of desolation and death. Has God left, is the very natural inquiry, — has God left all these millions of his creatures to be overwhelmed with de- struction ? No; scarcely one. He has secured and protected them all. Never did the most cautious husbandman lay in his stores, and prepare his clothing, and secure the warmth and tightness of his buildings with half the efficiency of foresight and care which God exhibit every autumn, in shutting up, in places of safety and protection, all the varieties of animal and vegetable life. The storm and the wintry cold are not allowed to come till he has given maturity and strength to the helpless birds, and sent them away to warmer climes. Other animals have, in obedience to an impulse of which they could not know the nature and design, been industriously employed during the summer, in laying in their winter stores ' 38 THE CORNER-STONE. The chrysalis. The ant. God a father. and are now sheltered in holes, or hollow trunks, sleeping undisturbed in the midst of a plenty which God has provided for them. Even the insect tribes, so delicate and frail, are all safe. By a most admirable arrangement, generation suc- ceeds generation in such a way, that the animal life of a whole species exists in such a form at the approach of win- ter, that ice and cold and snow can produce neither injury nor pain. In these and in other ways, God has secured for all, protection, and exemption from suffering, and when the first wintry midnight storm roars through the forest, it finds every thing prepared for it. Every nest is empty, and its in- « mates are safe in another clime. All insect existence is pro- tected, and the field-mouse, and even the little ant, are care- fully housed in their warm and sheltered and plentiful home. By such examinations as these, of God's works, we see that he is Love ; that he is not merely a cold contriver, ex- hibiting in his works mechanical skill and power alone, but that he has feelings of affection, that he is susceptible of strong personal interest and attachment. It gives us great intellectual gratification to look at the exhibitions of his mere invention and power, but it touches our hearts, and awakens a deep and warm feeling there, when we see this skill and power brought into requisition to secure the protection and happiness of even the lowest creatures that he has formed. The inference is irresistible, that he who takes so much pains to bring to every unfledged robin or sparrow its daily sup- plies of food, can not be indifferent to our protection and hap- ness. It must be that he considers us of more value than many sparrows. In studying the character however of the great unseen Power which pervades the universe, you must not look exclu- sively at those kind and gentle aspects of it, which we have been exhibitino;. God is a magistrate as well as a father THE DEITY. 39 A magistrate too. System. It is the part of the magistrate to act on system, and to "be firm and decided in sustaining system and law. Plans must be formed with reference to the general good, and these plans must be steadily pursued, even at the occasional expense of great individual suffering. The wider the field, the more extensive the community, and the more lasting and moment- ous the interests involved, the greater is the necessity of this determined firmness on the part of the magistrate upon whom the responsibility devolves. If now you wish to make out for yourself a Deity such as may suit your own weakness or timidity, you will pass over this part of God's character ; but if you wish for truth, — if you really wish to understand what sort of a Power it is that holds the reins of government over us all, you will not allow this aspect of his character to pass unexamined. Wherever we look, then, whether to nature or revelation, or to that more distinct manifestation of his character which the invisible Supreme has made to us in the person of Jesus Christ, we shall find the most overwhelming, and sometimes appalling proofs, that God acts upon system ; — that he has planned a system, both of physical and moral law, with reference to the greatest good of the greatest num- ber, and that this system he will sustain, with the most determined and persevering decision. I shrink from coming to this part of my subject. Many of my readers, without doubt, who have followed me with all their hearts, in the pictures of God's character which have been exhibited so far, will hang back reluctant from what remains. But we must know the whole. We must endeavor to understand fully the character of the great Being with whom we have to do. If then we look at the manifestations of Jehovah's char- acter which he has made, and is making, in nature all around us, you will find, as I said above, that he acts upon 40 THE CORNER-STONE. Firmness and decision. The suffering child. Its mother. system, and that he will pursue the plan which public good requires, firmly and efficiently, even at the expense of great individual suffering. Let me first illustrate this, in regard to a mere physical law. You are studying God's character, I will suppose, in what you see of his works, and as you pass by some usually quiet and happy dwelling, your attention is attracted by piercing cries from within, apparently coming from a child and indi- cating acute suffering. You enter to ascertain the cause, and find that a little infant, just learning to delight its parents' hearts by its opening faculties of speech and reason, has fallen into the fire, and is dreadfully burned. The poor child cries piteously, and extends its arms to its parents for relief. It has never before known a pain which they could not either relieve or mitigate, and its look of anguish seems to upbraid them for not rescuing it now. Its agonized parents, suffering even more than the child, look this way and that for help, but in vain. The injury is too deep to be repaired. Hour after hour, nay day after day, the intense suffering continues, until fever and delirium close the sad scene. Close it, did I say ? No. The child sleeps, but memory does not sleep in the breast of its half-distracted mother. For weeks and months her eyes will fill with tears, and her heart will almost burst, as she looks upon the deserted little cradle, or the now useless toy. Those heart-rending cries and dying struggles are perpetuated in her mind by faculties which God has planted there ; and the recollec- tion will for months and years haunt her by day, and terrify her in midnight dreams. All this follows from, the accident of a moment, for which no one was to blame. There is but one Power in existence who could arrest these consequences, after the occurrence of the cause. And will he do it ? Will he interpose and THE DEITY. 41 Physical law sustained. God's determined decision. General laws. stop the torture, and heal the wound, and bring relief and happiness once more to the distracted family ? Or will he remain calmly by, leaving the laws of matter and of mind to work out in such a case their awful consequences to the full? The question does not need an answer. He has estab- lished laws in regard to the nature and effects of fire upon the human frame, and the connection of bodily injury with bodily suffering, and the principles which regulate the move- ments of the human heart, which he sees are best on the whole. These laws he has established. He sees that it is best that they should be liable to no exceptions and no un- certainty in their course, and he accordingly %vill carry them through. Men sometimes exhibit some good degree of firm- ness and decision in carrying out a plan which is on the whole for the best ; but if we will look around us at the works of Providence, that invite our examination on every side, we shall see that God does not hesitate to go, in the execution of his laws, where the firmest and most decided moil would shrink from folio wing. Perhaps some persons may object to such a view of our Maker's character ; but if they do, it seems impossible to avoid the conclusion that it is the character itself that they object to, and not to any thing peculiar in this mode of presenting it. These are facts which I have been exhibiting, not theories. They are common facts, too, that is, the cas& which I have chosen as an illustration is one that not un- frequently occurs, exactly as I have described it, and it is moreover a fair specimen of thousands and tens of thou- sands of occurrences which are precisely analogous to it in their nature, and which are constantly taking place in the view of every observer. Nor can there be any doubt of the explanation I have given. That G-od has ordained these general laws no one can doubt or deny. That he might 42 THE CORNER-STONE. Moral law. The wretched dwelling. The interior. arrest or suspend their operation in individual cases if lie was inclined to do so, is equally unquestionable ; and his allow- ing them to work their way through so much misery, is proof clear and undeniable as demonstration, that though he loves happiness and is continually forming plans to secure it for millions and millions of his creatures, he can still firmly and steadily witness individual suffering, when neces- sary, and that he will do it, rather than sacrifice the general good by violating law. We shall see this still more clearly and its effects are still more terrible, in regard to the operations of moral law. I mean law relating to the moral conduct of men. If we really wish to know what God's actual character is, as he exhibits it in what he does, we shall take special interest in observing what he does in cases of guilt. On the side of a bleak and barren hill half a mile from the village in which you reside, stands a miserable house, or rather hovel, which has often attracted your attention in your walks, by its ruinous and dilapidated condition, and the pale, sickly, wretched children which shiver at the door. Did you ever consider what sort of a scene its interior usually presents, at night ? Come with me and see. The inner door hanging by a single hinge opens creak- ingly, and the cold, empty, miserable apartment, presents to you an expression of wretchedness far more gloomy than even the exterior had led you to expect. The sickly, worn- out wife and mother is trying in vain to make out, from former remnants, some food for herself and her half-starved children. They sit around the room, or hover over the embers, in a half stupor. They do not cry. The extreme of misery is silent, and these wretched ones are beyond tears, She is hurrying through her work to get the children away from an approaching danger. What is that danger, which she does not dare that they should meet with her ? Why THE DEITY. 43 Misery. The father's return. Unpunished guilt, and suffering innocence. their father is coming home. If it was the lightning, or a tornado, or a midnight assassin, she would gather her chil- dren around her, and they would feel safer and happier together. But their father is coming home, and the uncon- trollable passions of an insane husband and father, she chooses to bear alone. She sends her children away. She hides her babe in the most secret place she can find ; — in a corner an emaciated, shivering boy crawls into something like a bed, and spreads over his limbs the thin covering which is all that is left for clothing, and then draws himself up, as if trying to shrink away from the cold ; and per- haps a girl, by a choice of miseries, has pleaded for permis- sion to stay with her mother. All this is however the mere prelude, — the preparation, anticipating the scene of real misery which the return of the abandoned husband and father is to bring. But here I must stop ; for if I were to describe the scene which ensues, just as it i3 actually exhibited in thousands and tens of thousands of families all over England and America, every night, my readers would lay down the book, sick at heart, at the con- templation of the guilt and miseries of man. But the point that I am wishing to bring to view in all this case, is this. How firmly and steadily will Jehovah go on, night after night, for months and years, and allow the wretched sinner in this case to drink all the bitter dregs of the cup he chooses, and to bring down its dreadful effects upon his helpless wife and children. Nay we may go further back. For all this misery is primarily caused by a poison which another man supplies ; he deals it out — a daily potion of death — and while his own head is sheltered, and his own fireside safe from its effects, he is permitted by Providence to go on for years, sending these streams of misery into many families all around him. Why does not God interpose to arrest this vice and suffering ? Why does he not shelter this 44 THE CORNER-STONE .. Unpunished guilt. Penalties. Language of the Bible. wretched wife, and warm and feed these perishing hut inno- cent children ? — innocent at least of the causes of their misery. Why does he not hy a change in the constitution of nature destroy the possibility of making a poison so excruciating in its effects ? There can be but one answer. He sees that it is on the whole for the best, that man should be left free to sin if he will, and that the nature of sin should be shown by allowing it to work out undisturbed its own awful results to all connected with the sinner. These plans of his govern- ment he has the firmness to carry out, — though every year they cut down thousands of wretched wives and starved chil- dren. The man who chooses to send firebrands, arrows, and death around him, has under the government of G-od an op- portunity to do so. The door is wide open. And the help- less and innocent wife and children must take the conse- quences. But oh, thou forlorn and broken -hearted mother, be of good courage. Thou art not forgotten, though fixed laws must take their course. Thou shalt have a hearing in due time. Such cases as the above, are rather cases of moral arrange- ments carried out firmly to their end, than examples of the execution of the penalties of a moral law. I do not bring forward cases of the latter kind, because they are familiar to every one, and most certainly if God does not shrink from indi- vidual suffering, when it is necessary to sustain the uniform- ity of material processes, or to carry out the moral opera- tions of his general system, who can imagine that he will fail in the energy of his government, in regard to the conse- quences of personal guilt. The Bible speaks on this subject in language so terrible, that men shrink from repeating it ; but nature speaks all around us more emphatically and more terribly still.* * W~e must not suppose from these facts, that the Deity is guided, in the government of the world, by general laws, -which, though on the THE DEITY, 45 Leading traits of the Divine character. As I have already remarked, it would not be surprising if some of my readers were to shrink back from these views of the determined decision which God manifests in carrying out to the end, all these arrangements which he has once deliberately adopted for the ultimate good of all. We can not deny, however, that the history of God's dealings with men is full of such examples as we have presented, and that if we really and honestly wish to know what is his char- acter, and what principles do really govern his conduct, such cases deserve a most attentive consideration. He who wishes to frame for himself an imaginary Deity, suited to his own limited views and narrow conceptions, will probably shut his eyes against them. We however wish to know the truth, whatever it may be, and if we attempt to study God's character as it is exhibited in those manifestations of himself, which he makes in his daily providence, we shall find everywhere inscribed in blazing characters. Unbound- ed POWER AND SKILL ; UNIVERSAL AND INEXTINGUISHABLE love ; and Inflexible firmness in the execution of LAW. We have thus far exhibited the mode by which you are to study the character of our great Magistrate and Father, by his acts ; and this mode of study, you will observe, is essentially the same, whether you read the record of his acts contained in the Bible, or observe them in the histories of nations and individuals, or in the occurrences of common life. All these, however, * constitute but one mode by which the Deity manifests himself to men. There are two others whole useful and salutary, are, in individual cases, mischievous and only to be tolerated because they effect on the whole, more good than evil. These laws of nature, even in those cases where, to the eye of man, they produce nothing but evil, are in reality as truly intended and calculated to produce good, as in the other cases where the good is manifest and direct. 46 THE CORNER-STONE. Second manifestation. The Holy Spirit. Contrasts of character. which I must briefly allude to here, though they will he more fully brought to view in the future chapters of this work. The secoud great manifestation of the Deity which is made to us, is in the exertion of a direct power upon the human heart. In all the ages of the world, there have been remark- able exceptions to the prevailing selfishness and sin which generally reign among mankind. These exceptions occur in the earlier history contained in the Bible ; and were it not for the light which Christianity throws upon the subject, they would be almost unaccountable. Cain and Abel, for ex- ample, took entirely different courses in reference to their duties toward God. Love, gratitude, and reverence seem to have reigned in the heart of one, while a cold, heartless, and selfish worship was all that the other rendered. Here is an extraordinary difference among beings of the same species possessing the same native powers and propensities, and placed in substantially the same circumstances. Noah listened to the warning voice of God, while all the rest of the world gave themselves up to sin. Why should this be so ? Worldly pleasure, we might have suppoosed, would have been as alluring to him as to others, and the dis- position to obey and fear their Maker as strong in others as in him. But it was not so. He stood alone ; and how shall the moral phenomenon of his solitary virtue amid universal degeneracy and vice be explained ? So in a multitude of other cases. The narratives with which the Old Testament is filled seem designed to exhibit to us contrasts. A few individuals, with hearts filled with filial affection toward God, form the bright parts of the pic- ture, and the natural character of selfishness and sin, acting in different circumstances, but in all working out the same bitter fruits, exhibit abundantly the darker shades. Why should this be so ? Why should Abraham find in himself a THE DEITY. 47 Influences of the Spirit. Testimony of the Bible ; of witnesses. willingness to obey God, and to deal kindly and justly with man, while ungodliness, injustice and cruelty reigned almost all around him. Why was Joseph pure and spotless, — con- scientious, just and forgiving ? His brothers were men of violence and blood. Why, in such a family should there be such an exception ? Similar examples have been always occurring, and the Bible exhibits them as the effects of a peculiar operation of the Holy Spirit, as it is termed, upon the human heart, — a mysterious operation, powerful in its results, but incompre- hensible in its' nature. This you will observe is a manifesta tion of the Divinity entirely different from those to which we have- already alluded. In the works of creation and provi- dence, Jehovah himself acts, and from the nature of his ac- tions we learn his character. In his direct power over moral agents, he mysteriously mingles his influences with their moral powers, so as to lead them to act, and by the charac- ter of the results, we likewise in this case learn his character. They are however two modes of manifesting the powers and character of the Deity, which are very dissimilar. This class of moral effects are not only in the Bible ascribed to an influence from above, but they have always been so attributed by the individuals themselves. Good men, in all ages, have always understood, and have been eager to ac- knowledge their dependence upon a higher power, for all that is good in their hearts. They have differed exceedingly in their modes of expressing it, but they have agreed sub- stantially as to the fact. It has always been easy for an an- tagonist to run them into difficulty and perplexity in defend- ing the opinion ; still they have clung unceasingly to it ; or returned to it again and again when torn away ; and go where you will, among mankind, wherever you find holiness of heart, and real moral virtue, you will find their possessor ascribing them to a mysterious but all-powerful influence 48 THE CORNER-STONE. United testimony. The Son. Seeing face to face. from above. It is so with, the refined and cultivated intellect in the most elevated Christian community, and it is so with the humblest, lowest savage that ever bowed before his Maker to confess and to abandon his sins. It was so in former times with David and with Paul, and it is so now with every lonely widow, who, in God finds consolation and even happiness in the midst of her tears ; and with every sick child, who, re- newed by the Holy Spirit, finds such peace with God that he can smile at death, and welcome the grave. A more full consideration of this subject we must reserve ; we only allude to it here, in order to bring distinctly forward in its place, the fact that there is this, among the other modes, by which the great unseen power manifests himself to men. There is one other ; which we have already alluded to, — that more direct and personal exhibition of himself which God has made in Jesus Christ his son. Here God, for the first time, shows himself to men, openly and without a veil. Here we see the moral attributes of divinity in living and acting reality. In those other manifestations of himself which he has made, " we see through a glass darkly, but here face to face." When he acts in his providence, or in the mysterious and secret agency of his Spirit in human hearts, we must pause and reflect, in order to come to con- clusions ; we must trace back causes to effects, and infer the principles which must have guided them. But when the great Unseen assumes our own human nature, when he be- comes flesh, and dwells among us, his attributes and perfec- tions come out into open day. Such are the three great manifestations of himself to men, which the one unseen all-pervading essence has made, as ex- hibited to us in the Bible, and in our own experience and ob- servation. Though there have been interminable disputes in the Christian church about the language which has been em- THE DEITY. 49 Studying God's character. True mode. Approaching the Deity. ployed to describe these facts, there has been comparatively little dispute among even nominal Christians about the facts themselves. I have endeavored in describing them to go just as far as the Bible goes, and no farther, and to use as nearly as possible the expressions which are furnished us in that sacred volume. These views, my readers will perceive, open a very wide field to be explored in studying the character of God. Many young persons, when they hear of this study, form no idea of any thing more than committing to memory a few passages of Scripture, or learning by rote the summary views of some theological writer. But you see that all nature and all reve- lation, the whole field of observation, and of experience, and all the records of history are full of materials. Go, then, and take no man's opinion upon trust, but study the character of God for yourselves by seeing what he does. There is one thing more to be said, before I close this chap- ter. Many persons feel a difficulty in determining how to ipproach the Deity in prayer. " What conception," you ask, " shall we form, of the Being whom we address ?" The unseen Divinity itself, in its purely spiritual form, we can not conceive of ; they who attempt to do it will find on a careful analysis of the mental operation, that it is the visible universe itself, that they picture to their minds, when in prayer they endeavor to form an abstract conception of the Deity which pervades it. Others in imagination look up- ward, and form a confused and an absurd idea of a monarch on a throne of gold, adorned with crown and scepter, and sitting in a fancied region which they call heaven. This is a delusion which we have already endeavored to dispel. Driven from this imagination, the soul roams throughout the universe JBmong suns and stars, or over the busy surface of the earth, seeking in vain for some conceivable image of the t>0 THE CORNER-STONE. Access by Jesus Christ. Conclusion. Deity, some form on which the thoughts can rest, and to- ward which the feelings can concentrate. It looks however in vain. God manifests himself indeed in the blazing sun, the fiery comet, — and in the verdure and bloom of the bound- less regions of the earth ; but these are not the avenues through which a soul burdened with its sins, would desire to approach its Maker. The gospel solves the difficulty. " It is by Jesus Christ that we have access to the Father." This vivid exhibition of his character, this personification of his moral attributes opens to us the way. Here we see a mani- festation of divinity, an image of the invisible God which comes as it were down to us ; it meets our feeble faculties with a personification exactly adapted to their wants, so that the soul, when pressed by the trials and difficulties of its con- dition, when overwhelmed with sorrow, or bowed down by remorse, or earnestly longing for holiness, will pass by all the other outward exhibitions of the Deity, and approach the in- visible supreme, through that manifestation of himself which he has made in the person of Jesus Christ, his son, our Savior. THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. 51 The Savior's first words. His last words. CHAPTER II. THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. " Leaving us an example that ye should walk in his steps." The very first words of our Savior, which have been pro- served for us, contain an expression of the great leading prin- ciple which regulated his whole life. " I must be about my Father's business." His last words, too, show, that thirty- years of fatigue, and danger, and suffering, did not extinguish his zeal in this his work. "Go ye into all the world and preach the Gospel to every creature." He came into the world to do something, not for himself, but for his Father, and he devoted himseif to it entirely. He was continually engaged in this work, while he remained here — going from place to place, and encountering continual hardship and dan- ger and suffering ; and all without any reference to his own selfish interests, but regarding solely the work which he had to do for the salvation of men. And at last, when he left the world, his final charge to his disciples was, that they should be faithful and persevering in carrying forwajd the work which he had thus earnestly begun. In fact Jesus Christ was so entirely devoted to his Father's business while he was upon earth, that half the readers of his life do not imagine that he had any personal feelings or desires of his own. But we must not forget, that he was a man, possessed of all the feelings, and exposed to all the temptations of men. He might have formed the scheme of t)Q THE CORXEE.-STOXE. Perfection. Common illusion. Real claims of Christianity. being a Napoleon, if he had chosen to do so. The world was before him. He had the opportunity, and so far as we can understand the mysterious description of Ins temptation, he was urged to make the attempt. It is surprising how much the example of Christ loses its power over us, simply on account of the absolute perfection of it. If he had been partly a lover of pleasure, if he had for instance built himself a splendid mansion, and ornamented his grounds, and devoted some portion of his time to selfish enjoyment there ; or if he had entered into political life, and given a share of his attention to promoting his own honor, we might perhaps have felt that he was more like one of us : and if then he had torn himself away from these temptations, so as finally to have devoted his chief time and attention to the glory of God and the good of men, the example which he would thus have set for us, would have seemed perhaps more within our reach. The selfish and worldly spirit, which he would have exhibited, would, as it were, have made his case come home to us, and then whatever fidelity and zeal he might have shown in his Father's work, would have allured us to an imitation of it. But as it is, since he gave himself Up wholly to his duty, since he relinquished the world alto- gether, Christians seem to think, that his bright example is only to a very limited extent an example for them. But we must remember, as I said before, that Jesus Christ was a man. His powers were human powers. His feelings were human feelings, and his example is strictly and exactly an example for all the world. Yet how few consider it in this light. Christians admit indeed that the general principles which regulate his conduct ought to regulate theirs ; but then the most that they generally think of attempting is to follow in his steps slowly and hesitatingly, and at a great distance behind. And there is nothing in which the example of Christ takes THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. 53 Mohammedanism. Paganism. The worldly man. less hold of men, than in this leading principle of his conduct, — devotedness to his Father's husiness. How perfectly evi dent it is, that a very large proportion of professing Christians are doing their own business in this world, and not their Father's. In fact so universal is this sin, that there are great numbers of nominal Christians who have no idea, no concep- tion whatever, of the ground which Christianity takes in regard to a man's duty. Christianity stands in fact, in this respect, strikingly distinct from every other religion. Mohammedanism leaves men to pursue their own objects, — to live for themselves, — only it prescribes some rules regu- lating the modes by which these aims shall be pursued. So does paganism, — so did ancient philosophy, — so does modern infidelity. Whatever moral rules all these systems prescribe, are rules to regulate our pursuits, while the nature and objects of them remain unchanged. But Christianity does no such thing. It comes with far higher claims, — it is no mere regulator of the machinery of human life. It comes to change the plan and objects of that machinery alto- gether. Look at the history of a man engrossed in the world. He saw when he was young, that wealth gave consideration and influence to its possessor, and he felt a feverish sort of pleasure when he received the first hundred dollars which he earned. He resolved to become rich, and in his eagerness to go on, he gradually became less and less scrupulous about the means of advancing. He violated no laws ; he exposed him- self to no public disgrace, but he resorted to those means so well known to men of the world, by which he could increase his own stores at the expense of the rights or the happiness of others ; and by these means he has at length acquired a for- tune. He usually attends public worship on the Sabbath. It would be disreputable not to do so. But in the morning and evening, at his own private apartment, he will post his 04 THE CORNER-STONE. His character and habits. Seriousness. He Is changed. books, or look over his accounts, or plan his voyages. There is nothing publicly disreputable in this. He is not a profane man ; — not at all, in his own opinion, It is true that sometimes, when excited, he will make use of what he acknowledges to be an improper expression, but men will make allowances for this. He does not do it to such an extent as to injure his character. He does not worship God in his family. He has no objection to religious observances, but he has no taste for them ; and then, besides, he has not time. In order to carry on his plans, it is necessary for him to go early to his count- ing-room, and at night he is fatigued and exhausted, and wishes for rest. As to the answer which he shall make, when, at last, God shall summon him to account for the im- mortal soul intrusted to his care, he never thinks of it. No. He plans however very wisely for the design which he has in view. His object is to make a fortune, and he is taking a most judicious and successful course to accomplish it. It is no part of his design to please God, or to do good to men ; — to save his own soul, or to prepare for a happy meeting with his children in heaven. This is not his business, and of course he does not attend to it. As, however, he advances in life, he begins to think some- times more seriously. His minister brings to his view an approaching judgment, and explains the strictness of God's law, so that his conscience begins to trouble him. He perceives that though his mode of life has been perfectly eputable among men, still it must be considered somewhat jregular when tested by the requirements of the law of God. His children begin to be ungovernable and dissipated as they grow up, and one of them comes, under very melan- choly circumstances, to an untimely end. He is troubled. In short he resolves to reform. He banishes all business from the Sabbath except that when the sermon does not THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. 55 His great business. His final account. Consequences. particularly interest him he can not help sometimes thinking a little of his voyages or his sales. He "becomes more scrupu- lous about infringing upon his neighbor's rights, or taking an unfair advantage of their necessities. He establishes morning and evening prayers in his family, and though he does not always think of the Being whom he is addressing, he always regularly addresses him, in words, and there is generally in his mind at the time a feeling of reverence and awe, and a sort of vague impression that he is' really speaking to the Supreme. He becomes a benevolent man too. That is, when an application is made for charity, he gives as much as he thinks will be expected of him. In a word, there is a great change in his character. It is true he is still pursuing the same great objects as before, but then Christianity has come in to regulate the mode of his pursuing them. And he goes on for the rest of his days, making his fortune on much better principles, and in much better ways, than in the early part of his life. Still, making his fortune is his business. The ultimate object for which he lives and acts is to get money into his possession. Every thousand dollars that he obtains, he invests ki the most safe and profitable mode which he can command, and looks upon it as so much done, — accomplished. And when at last he comes to die, and on his death-bed looks over his past life, all the satisfaction that he can have will be, in reflecting, that though making his fortune has been the object of his life, he has neverthless made the last half of it in the most unexceptionable manner. Now is such a man a follower of Jesus Christ ? Is mak- ing a fortune for himself his Father's business ? No ; when he appears before God in judgment, he must expect to be addressed thus, " Did you not know that you were stationed on earth to do good ; to turn men to G-od, to set an example of devoted attachment to his cause ; to relieve suffering and 56 THE CORNER-STONE. Samuel's business. How a child may imitate tho Savior. promote human happiness, as the great objects of your life ? All this was distinctly explained to you, and that you might perfectly understand it, you had the example of Jesus Christ, your Savior, who spent a life on earth in the most trying circumstances, for the very purpose of showing how much is meant by the command that men should serve God while they live, and not themselves. You were distinctly and emphatically told, that you were not your own, that you had been bought with a price, and were bound to live and act as a steward, an agent, a servant. But you have not done so. Instead of it, you have taken possession, in your own name, of the means of influence and of usefulness, all of which were put into your hands to be used for God. You have had your trial, and it has resulted in your deliberate and final choice to act for yourself, and not for your Maker. Let us look at another case. Samuel is a little boy, eight years old. He has really become a Christian, and desires accordingly to do his duty, and his whole duty. Do you wish to know Samuel what it is ? If you look into the Bible, to your Savior, for an example, you will see that the first principle of action which he announced was, that he was doing his Father's business. But you say perhaps that he was sent from heaven to do a great work here, which you can not do. " I can not go," you say, " from place to place, preaching the gospel and working miracles, and giving sight to the blind and healing the sick. I would do it if I could." It is* true you can not do that. That is, you can not do your Father's business in the same way precisely, that Christ did it. Or, to explain it more fully, God has a great deal of business to be done in this world, and it is of various kinds, and the particular portion allotted to each person depends upon the circumstances in which each one is placed. You can not do exactly what Christ did while he was here, but you can do what he would have done had he been in your THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. 57 The glory of God. Acting as a steward. place. You can not make a blind man happy by restoring his sight, but you can make your little sister happy by help- ing her up kindly when she has fallen down ; and that last is your Father's business as much as the other; His business here is to make every one happy, and to relieve every one's suffering. You can not persuade great multitudes of men to love and obey God, as Christ endeavored to do, but you may lead your brothers and sisters to him, by your silent influence and happy example. So you can bear sufferings patiently, and take injuries meekly, and thus exhibit the character which God desires that men should everywhere see. The light which you thus let shine may be a feeble light, and it may illuminate only a narrow circle around you ; but if it is the light of genuine piety, it will be in fact the glory of God ; and if it is your great object to let this light shine, you are about your Father's business as truly as Jesus was, when he preached to the thronging multitude, or brought Lazarus from the tomb. Yes ; if a little child is making it his great aim to do good, by making his parents, his brothers and sisters, and his playmates happy, for the sake of co-operating with God, he is following the example of Christ. It is very difficult for an observer to know whether an individual is acting for God or for himself. A Christian merchant, for instance, who feels that he holds a stewardship, will be as industrious, as enterprising, and as persevering in his plans as any other merchant. Only he acts as agent, while the other acts as principal. So a boy may be amiable and gentle and kind without any regard to God, or any desire to carry on his plans. But God sees very clearly who is working for him, and who is not ; and there is not one, and there never has been one, in any age, who, if he had been inclined to enter God's service, would not have found enough to do for him, had he been disposed to do, it. The example of Jesus Christ c* 58 THE CORNER-STONE. Worldline33. Love of furniture. Dress. in this respect is an example for all mankind. It is intended for universal imitation, and they who pass through life with- out imitating it, must find themselves condemned when they come to their account. And how strange it is, that there should be found so very few willing to do the work of God in this world. Even of those few, most, instead of entering into it heart and soul, do just enough to satisfy what they suppose to be the expec- tations of their Christian brethren. A lady will spend her life, engrossed with such objects of interest as new furniture, and fashionable dress, and the means of securing the admi- ration of others, for herself or her children. She thinks for days and weeks of procuring some new article of furniture, not for comfort or convenience, but for show ; and when at last the long-expected acquisition is made, she is pleased and delighted, as if one of the great objects of her existence had been accomplished. She spends hours in deciding upon the color or texture of a ribbon, which as soon as it is chosen will begin to fade, and after a very brief period fall into contempt and be rejected ; or she pursues, month after month, and year after year, what she calls the pleasures of society, which pleasures are often a compound of pride, vanity, envy; jealousy, and ill-will. Her husband, perhaps, in the mean-time devotes himself to pursuits equally un- worthy an immortal mind. They do good occasionally, as opportunities occur, and call themselves Christians ; but they seem to have no idea, that God has any great work in life for them to do. Has he work for them to do ? Yes ; there is a world to be restored to holiness and happiness, and he asks their help in doing it. He has put their children almost completely in their power, so that the eternal happiness of these children might be almost certainly secured, and has given them con- nections with society, of which they might avail themselves THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. 59 The work of God. Low pursuits. in working most efficiently for him. If they would take hold of this enterprise, they would have some elevated and enno- bling object hefore them. They would see, one after another, those connected with them, returning to God. They would see their children growing up in piety. Every night, they would feel that they had been living during the day for God ; and whatever might be their difficulties and trials, they would be relieved from all sense of responsibility and care. I Instead of feeling gloomy and sad, as their children were gradually separated from them, or were one by one removed by death, and as they themselves were gradually drawing toward the close of life, they would find their interest in their great business growing stronger and stronger as they ap- proached the change which would bring them more directly into connection with their Father. The offer, on the part of our Maker, to take us into his service, in this world, is in fact the only plan which can give human life any real dignity, or substantial value. Without it all human employments are insignificant, all pleasure is insipid, and life is a sterile waste,. void of verdure or bloom. Without this, there is an entire disproportion between the lofty powers and capacities of human nature, and the low pursuits and worthless objects which are before it in its pres- ent home. An immortal spirit, capable of thoughts which explore the universe, and of feelings and desires reaching forward to eternity, spending life in seeing how many pieces of stamped metal it can get together ! a mind made in the image of God, and destined to live as long as he, buried for years in thoughts about the size and beauty of a dwelling which is all the time going to decay, or about the color and fashion of dress, or the hues and carvings of rose-wood or mahogany ! But let no one understand me to condemn the. enjoyments, which come to us through the arts and refinements of life. 60 THE CORNER-STONE. The arts and refinements of life. The Savior's character. It is making these things the great object of existence, — it is the eager pursuit of them, as the chief business of life, which the example of our Savior and the principles of the gospel condemn. These arts and refinements are intended to add to human happiness. They will make the most rapid pro- gress in those countries where Christianity most perfectly prevails. Jesus Christ had a love for beauty, both of nature and art ; he admired the magnificent architecture of the temple, and deeply lamented the necessity of its overthrow, and his dress was at least of such a character, that the dis- posal of it was a subject of importance to the well-paid sol- diers who crucified him. Yes, the universal reign of Chris- tianity will be the reign of taste, an$ refinement, and the arts ; but while the enjoyments of men will be increased in a tenfold degree from these and other sources, their hearts will be set far less on them, than they are now. These en- joyments will be recreations by the way, to cheer and refresh those whose hearts are mainly bent on accomplishing the ob- jects of their Father in Heaven. I have dwelt longer, perhaps, on this subject than I ought to have done. This book, though its subject is Christian truth, is intended to throw as strong a light as possible on Christian duty, and in considering this, the first great trait of our Savior's character which presents itself to view, I could not avoid asking my reader to pause a moment to consider what he himself is really living for. But let us return to the example of our Savior. Jesus Christ was in some respects the most bold, energetic, decided, and courageous man that ever lived ; but in others, he was the most flexible, submissive, and yielding ; and in the conceptions which many persons form of his character, there is a degree of indistinctness and confusion, from want of clear ideas of the mode in which these seemingly opposite THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. 61 Energy. Mildness and forbearance. qualities come together. The explanation is this. The question, which of these two classes of qualities he would ex- hibit, depended entirely upon the question, whether it was his own personal welfare or his Father's business, which was at stake. If it was the latter, he feared no danger, he shrunk from no opposition, and no obstacle or difficulty would turn him from his course. If it was the former, his own personal welfare, he was exactly the reverse, — mild, gentle, and yield- ing, to the last degree. There never was a mission or enter- prise of any kind conducted with a more bold, energetic, and fearless spirit, than the Savior's mission ; and on the other hand, there never was a case where personal sacrifices and injuries were borne with so much indifference and un- concern. Observe how he reproved the insincere and dis- honest pretenders to religion, which filled Judea in those days. He followed them into crowds, he met them face to face, and in the most direct and personal manner spread out their insincerity and hypocrisy before them. In the midst of Jerusalem, the very heart and center of their influence, he brought forward his accusations against them, with a power and severity which human eloquence has very seldom equaled This was in the cause of his Father. But when ends merely personal to himself were concerned, how changed. Peter's most unmanly and ungrateful denial was reproved by a look ! And Judas, coming at midnight with armed men, to seize him by the basest treachery, was called to a sense of his guilt by the mildest, the very gentlest reproof which lan- guage could frame. So when the profanation of his Father's temple was to be stopped, Jesus Christ could use a scourge, and effect a forcible ejectment with almost military authority ; and yet when, as was shown afterward in the judgment hall, there was nothing to excite him but his own personal in- juries, he was meek and gentle as a lamb. He was equally 62 THE CORNER-STONE. His story of the Samaritan. His rejection at Samaria. Plans. ready to use the scourge, in the cause of God, and to submit to it in his own. And this principle is the key to his whole conduct. Many anecdotes might be given to illustrate it. One day, for ex- ample, when speaking in the midst of Priests and Levites, in he very seat of their power, he related to them the story of the good Samaritan. Nothing could he more keenly cutting or more hold than this. They hated the Samaritans, because they would not come to Jerusalem to worship, and they were proud of their own piety, because their worship was of- fered in the right place ! Jesus did not enter into any labored argument with them, to show that piety was a feeling of the heart, and not a business of geographical location ; he simply related the story — cutting as it did, exactly across their bit- terest prejudices, — they would not even have any dealings with the Samaritans ! Some time afterward, he came in contact with the same feeling, that is, the religious rivalry between the Jews and the Samaritans, again, though in a different way. He was traveling with his disciples, and on arriving at Samaria, they would not receive him because he ivas going to Jeru- salem. Here the prejudice between the rival sects only in- jured him, personally ; and he thought nothing about it. His disciples were angry, but he quieted them at once, and went on. Thus it always was with him. Yielding, submis- sive, and patient hi regard to his own personal injuries and sufferings, but firm, inflexible, and courageous in the ex- treme, in resisting every injury to the cause committed to his care. There is something very bold and energetic in the meas- ures which he adopted in accomplishing his work. The great business which it was necessary for him to effect before his crucifixion, was, to publish effectually throughout Judea, his coming, and the principles of his gospel, — and to exhibit, THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. 63 Bold and systematic action. His personal boldness. as publicly as possible, the miraculous evidences of his mis- sion. He accomplished these objects in the most effectual manner, in about three years. In fact, there perhaps never was a case in which so great a moral effect was produced in three years, on any so extensive a community, if we consider at all the disadvantages incident to the customs of those days. There was no press ; there were no modes of extensive writ- ten communication, no regularly organized channels of inter- course whatever, between the different portions of the com- munity. Jesus Christ acted under every disadvantage, and he availed himself of no miraculous modes of disseminating his principles ; but yet, so skillfully did he plan, and with such promptness and energy did he execute, that in a very short period the work was done. What were these plans ? In the first place he went him- self, directly and boldly, into every center of influence and population that he could find, to proclaim his new princi- ples of religious truth and duty. When Jerusalem was crowded with the multitudes which came together at the Passover, he was always there, in public and conspicuous places, exposing in the most explicit and direct manner, the sins of the times, and exhibiting the principles of true religion, with a distinctness, and vividness, and beauty, which have never been equalled. At other times, he was traveling from place to place, through fertile and populous provinces, visit- ing the larger villages and towns, and gathering great multi- tudes around him in the open country. And yet though he was, in his business, thus bold and enterprising, he was in feel- ing, as we shall see more distinctly in the sequel, of a quiet and retiring spirit. He always withdrew at once from the crowd when his work was done. He sought solitude, he shrunk from observation ; in fact almost the only enjoyment which he seemed really to love, was his lonely ramble at midnight,for rest and prayer. He spent whole nights thus, we are told. It 64 THE CORNER-STONE. Nights of prayer. Style of speaking. SOLITUDE. is not surprising, that after the heated crowds and exhausting labors of the day, he should love to retire to silence and seclusion, to enjoy the cool and balmy air, the refreshing stillness, and all the beauties and glories of mid- night, among the soli- tudes of the Galilean hills — to find there happy communion with his Father, and to ga- ther fresh strength for the labors and trials that yet remained. Another thing which exhibits the boldness and enterprise, that characterized his plans for making an impression on the community, was the peculiarly new and original style of public speaking that he adopted. It was sententious, brief, antithetic. Every sentence was loaded with meaning, and was yet so concisely and energetically expressed, that the sentiment could neither be misunderstood nor forgotten. " If worldly pleasure allures you away from duty," a more timid and cautious speaker would have said, " you must relinquish it. Think how much more important your salvation is than any temporal gratification." " If your right hand offend you," says Christ, "cut it off. If your right eye offend you, pluck it out. It will be better for you to enter into life with one eye, than to be cast into hell-fire with two." The delivery of the sermon on the mount is, probably, the most striking example of moral courage which the world has THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. G5 Sermon on the mount. The assembly. ever seen. There are two circumstances, which render the occasion on which it was delivered, extraordinary. First, it was a very public occasion. A vast multitude from almost every part of the country were assembled. Judea, the southern province, and Galilee, the northern, were repre- sented ; so were the eastern and western shores of the river Jordan, and many distant cities and towns. From all this wide extent of country, a vast multitude, attracted by the fame of the Savior's miracles, had assembled to hear what this professed messenger from heaven had to say. Again, it was probably, though not certainly, a very early occasion. Perhaps the first on which the great principles of the gospel were to be announced to men. By this discourse, contain- ing, as it does, so plain and specific an exposition of the false notions of religion then prevailing, the Savior must have known that he was laying the foundation of that enmity to him which would end in Vs destruction. But he did not shrink from his duty, or conceal or cover over one single ob- noxious feature of the truth. He knew that the report of tliat meeting must be spread to every part of the country. As he looked around upon his auditory, he must have seen, here, one from a Galilean village, there, another from be- yond the Jordan, and again a third who would carry his re- port to distant Jerusalem ; and yet, though he was thus com- pletely exposed, instead of attempting to soften or conceal what might be expected to be displeasing to his auditors, he brought out all the distinctive features of prevailing error in the most open manner, and contrasted them with the pure principles of his spiritual religion, with a plainness and a point, which was exactly calculated to fix them in memory, and to circulate them most widely throughout the land. It was always so. The plainness, the point, the undaunted boldness, with which he exposed hypocrisy and sin, and the clear simplicity with which he held up to view the principles 66 THE CORNER-STONE. His missionaries, Results. Key to his character. of real piety, have no parallel. And yet he knew perfectly well, that in direct consequence of these things, a dark storm was gathering, which must in the end hurst in all its fury upon his unsheltered head. The enterprising and determined spirit, with which Christ entered into his work, was not satisfied with his own personal exertions. He formed the extraordinary plan of sending out simultaneously a number of his most cordial friends and fol- lowers, to assist in making the most extensive and powerful impression possible upon the community. At first he sent twelve, then seventy, who went everywhere, presenting to men the simple duties of repentance for the past, and of pure and holy living for the future. There could not have been measures more admirably adapted to accomplish the work which he had to do of promulgating everywhere throughout Judea the gospel which he came to announce to men. These measures succeeded. In two or three years the work was done. And every Christian, who has to work for his Master here, should learn a lesson from the enterprise, the system, and the energy, which Jesus Christ exhibited in doing his. This then is the key to the character of Jesus Christ in re- spect to spirit and decision. These qualities shine out in him with unequaled luster, whenever there was any duty to be done ; but the most mild and patient and humble submission take their place, when there is personal injury and suffering to be endured. In the streets of Jerusalem, and on any ques- tions which concerned the character of God, or the duty of man, we find him with all his faculties aroused, silencing every opponent by his unanswerable arguments, or by appeals of irresistible eloquence and power. But when these subjects fail, all the energy of attack or defense on his part gives way with them, and before his personal enemies, planning only personal injury to him, he stands silent, patient, and submis- THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. 67 Courage. The night in the garden. Suffering. sive, leaving the whole torrrent of injury to take its course, meeting it with no resistance and returning no reply. The history of the world can scarcely exhibit an act of higher, nobler courage, than our Savior performed, in coming down to meet Judas and the armed band, the night before he was crucified. Just imagine the scene. On the eastern side of Jerusalem, without the walls, there is a sudden de- scent to a stream, which flows through the valley. Across this stream, on the rising ground beyond, was a quiet and solitary place, where Jesus very often went for retirement and prayer. He understood very well his approaching tor- ture and crucifixion ; he had taken, the evening before, his last sad farewell of his disciples, and with the day of agony and death before him on the morrow, he could not sleep. It was a cold night, but a sheltered dwelling in the city was not the place for him. He asked his three dearest friends to go with him, that he might once more cross the valley, and for the last time take his midnight walk upon the Mount of Olives. Oppressed with anxiety and sorrow he fell down there alone before God and prayed that he might be spared what was to come. He had gone on firmly thus far, but now his heart almost failed him. Six long hours of inde- scribable agony seemed too much for the frail human powers which must necessarily bear the whole. He prayed God to spare him if it could be possible. But it could not. His strength failed under the exhaus- tion produced by his mental sufferings, and by the more than death-like perspiration, which the night air, so cold at this season that even the hardy soldiers needed fire, could not chill. Mysterious help from heaven restored him a little, but though refreshed by heavenly sympathy, we must re- member that it was human powers alone that had this trial to bear. At last there is heard through the trees, at a distance 68 THE CORNER-STONE. Lights and weapons and armed men. Real courage. down the valley, the sound of approaching voices. Lights are seen too ; — and now and then a glittering weapon. They are coming for him. Fly ! innocent sufferer, fly ! Turn to the dark solitudes behind you, and escape for your life ! — No. The struggle is over. The Savior, collected and composed, rises and walks on to meet the very swords and spears sent out against him ! We must remember, that in this gloomy hour there was no one to encourage him, no one to defend him, or to share his fate. It was in the darkness and stillness of night, the very hour of fear and dread ; and the approach of those whose dim forms and suppressed voices arrested his attention, was the signal not of danger, hut of death, — nor of death merely, but of protracted and unuttera- ble torture. Still he arose and went forth to meet them. "Whom seek ye?" said he, — "I am he." We have read this story so often, that it has lost its impression upon us ; but could we come to it afresh, and really appreciate the gloomy, dreadful circumstances of the scene, we should feel that the deserted Savior, in coming down under these cir- cumstances, to meet the torches and the weapons, which were to light and guard him back to such enemies and to such a death, exhibits the loftiest example of fortitude which the world has ever seen. There was less noise, less parade, less display than at Thermopylae or Trafalgar ; but for the real sublimity of courage, the spectacle of this solitary and defenseless sufferer, coming at midnight to meet the betrayer and his band, beams with a moral splendor which never shone on earth before, and will probably never shine again. We have thus far considered the great leading principles of our Savior's public conduct. As we have presented them they are three. 1. Entire devotedness to his Father's work. 2. Energy, system, and undaunted courage, in prosecut- ing it. THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. 69 Three great traits. Love of nature. Kirke White. 3. The mildest, most unresisting and forgiving spirit in regard to his own personal wrongs. "We might close our view of his character with these lead- ing principles of it, but there are some other traits of a more private nature, which it is pleasant to notice. We shall mention them as they occur. 1. Jesus Christ evidently observed and enjoyed nature. There are many allusions in his history to his solitary walks in the fields and on the mountains, and by the sea-side ; but the greatest evidence of his love for nature is to be seen in the manner in which he alludes to its beauties. A speaker's metaphors are drawn from the sources with which he is most familiar, or which interest him most ; so that we can judge very correctly what the habitual thoughts and feelings of a writer are, by observing what images arise to his mind, when he is interested in writing or conversation. "We take down a volume of poetry, for an illustration of this remark, and open, almost at random, to the following lines by Henry Kirke "White. " God keep thee, Traveler, on thy journey far ; The wind is bitter keen — the snow o'erlays The hidden pits and dangerous hollow ways, And darkness will involve thee. No kind star To-night will guide thee, Traveler, — and the war Of winds and elements on thy head will break, And in thy agonizing ear, the shriek Of spirits on their stormy car, "Will often ring appalling — I portend A dismal night, — and on my wakeful bed, Thoughts, Traveler, of thee, will fill my head, And him, who rides where winds and waves contend, And strives, rude cradled on the seas, to guide His lonely bark on the tempestuous tide." 70 THE COE.NER.-STONE. The Savior's metaphors. The lUy. THE WINTER NIGHT. Now such a passage as this admits us very far into the author's habits of thought and feeling. No man could have written it unless he had often felt the sublimity of the mid- night storm, and sym- pathized strongly with the anxieties and dan- gers of the lonely trav- eler. He must have been himself a witness of such a scene, and experienced the emo- tions which it excites, or he could not have painted them so vividly. ■ We learn in the same manner how distinct were the im- pressions of beauty or sublimity which the works of nature made upon the Savior by the manner in which he alluded to them. Take for instance, the case where he speaks of the decoration of the lilies. What a conception ! We are so familiar with it, that it loses its impression upon us, but if we could approach it anew we should be astonished at its boldness and beauty. He is endeavoring to persuade his disciples not to be anxious about their food or clothing, for if they will do God's will, he will take care of them. " Look at the lilies of the field," says he, " they toil not, neither do they spin, and yet I say unto you, that even Solomon in all his glory, was not arrayed like one of these." A cold, heart- less man, without taste or sensibility, would not have con- ceived such a thought as that. He could not ; and we may be as sure that Jesus Christ had stopped to examine and THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. Insensibility of men. The garden. Its wonders. admire the grace and beauty of the lily, and the exquisitely penciled tints of its petal, as if we had actually seen him bending over it, or pointing it out to the attention of his disciples. The mass of mankind never notice the beauties and won- ders that are always around them. Among hundreds walk- ing in a garden, it is only a very few, who would perceive the objects of astonishment and delight which abound there. Here are several shrubs side by side. They grow from the same earth, are warmed by the same sun, and refreshed by the same showers ; and yet the very same juices coming up one stem, arrange themselves into a currant at the top, — coming up another they form themselves into a pear, and in the third case, into a rose. The real lover of nature pauses to reflect, as he sees these various fruits and flowers, how strange it is, that a mechanism so exquisite can be arranged in those stems, so as to bring such astonishing and such different results from one common storehouse of materials. The multitude do not think of it at all. They consider it as a matter of course, that figs should grow upon the fig-trees arid grapes upon the vine, and that is all they think about it. Here is a little seed too. It seems to the eye, lifeless and inorganic ; indistinguishable from a useless grain of sand. But what a complicated system is safely packed within its covering. Put it into the ground, and in a few months re- turn to the spot, and you find a little tree growing there, covered with leaves and flowers, and giving to many birds and insects a shelter and a home. Now Jesus Christ noticed these things. He perceived their beauty and enjoyed it. His heart was full of images which such observations must have furnished. He could not otherwise have so beautifully compared the progress of his kingdom to the growth of such a tree. He could not have related the parable of the sower, if he had not noticed with 72 THE CORNER-STONE. The Savior's mode of addressing men. Moral sympathy. Reasoning. interest the minutest circumstances connected with the cul- ture of the ground. His beautiful allusions to the vine and to the fig-tree, the wheat and the tares, the birds of the air, and the flocks of the field, all prove the same thing. It is not merely that he spoke of those things, but that he alluded to them in a way so beautiful, and touching, and original, as to prove, that he had an observing eye and a warm heart for the beauties and glories of creation. 2. There is similar evidence that he noticed, with the same observing eye and intelligent interest, the principles and characteristics of human nature. Take for example, his story of the father's welcoming his returning prodigal, — the woman seeking the lost money, — the steward making friends with his master's debtors, and the pardoned sinner loving much because much had been forgiven. He observed every thing ; and his imagination was stored with an inex- haustible supply of images, drawn from every source ; and with these he illustrated and enforced his principles in a manner altogether unparalleled by any other writings, sacred or profane. 3. In exerting an influence over man, he endeavored to awaken the moral sympathies, rather than produce cold con- viction through the intellect. In regard to almost all impor- tant moral and religious truth, there is a witness within S every man's heart, and it was the aim of our Savior to awaken this witness and to encourage it to speak. Other men attempt to do every thing by reasoning, — cold, naked reasoning ; which, after all, it may be almost said, is the most absolutely inefficient means which can be applied, for the production of any moral effects upon men. Christ very seldom attempted to prove w 7 hat he said. He expressed and illustrated truth, and then left it to work its own way. Sometimes he argued, but then it was almost always in self-defense. "When at liberty to choose his own THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. 73 He loved his friends. He loved his mother. mode, as for example in the sermon on the mount, he said such things as commended themselves to every man's con- science, and their power consisted in the clearness and em- phasis with which he said them. If he reasoned at all, the distance was very short between his premises and his con- clusion, and his steps very simple and few. 4. Jesus loved his friends. The duty of universal benevo« lence, which he so strongly enforced, he never meant should supersede the claims of private, personal friendship, or inter- fere with its enjoyments. He himself, while he was ready to die for thousands, preferred to take his walks, and share his griefs, with Peter, James, and John. There is nothing more touching, in regard to this subject, than the manner in which he made a private intimation at the last supper, to his dearest personal friend, of the fact that it was Judas who was to betray him. He understood and felt the happiness of communion and confidence between kindred spirits, and by his example has authorized us to link ourselves to one an- other by the ties of friendship and affection, as strongly as we please. Christianity, in expanding the affections of the individual till they reach every brother and sister on the globe, does not weaken or endanger a single private or do- mestic tie. While it draws the whole human family to- gether, it links, by a still closer union than before, the hus- band with the wife, and the parent with the child, — sister to sister, and friend to friend. 5. The last thing that I have to say about the character of Jesus Christ is, lie loved his mother. Perhaps I have some young readers, who can remember that at some recent period, when they have been sick or suffering from any cause, they have, by their fretfulness or discontent, brought trouble and care to their parents, and have considered them- selves excused for it by the circumstances in which they have been placed. To them I have one thing to say. Your D 74 THE CORNER-STONE. Proof. Filial affection. Savior was nailed to the cross. The whole weight of his body was suspended from his lacerated limbs, and here he had to hang hour after hour till life actually sunk under the power of suffering. But even here he did not forget his mother. He gave, in the most touching manner possible, his dearest friend a charge to be kind to her, to protect her, to take care of her as long as she should live. He did this, however, almost by a word, for under such circumstauces it was torture to speak. He called the disciple to him, and pointing to Mary, he said, " Behold thy mother. 4 ' That was all ; but it was enough. The disciple took the bereaved mother, thus committed to his care, to his own home. Now let me say to each one of my readers, whether old or young, who has a mother still in life, as you shut this book at the close of this chapter, go and devise -some act of kindness and affection for her, in imitation of the dying example which the Savior set us. Do something to cheer and comfort her ; even if it is no very substantial act of kindness, it will bring gladness to her heart, as a memorial of your remembrance and affection. Mary must have felt the proof of love which Jesus evinced for her upon the cross, most deeply. They told the Savior, long before, that his mother was to be en- vied. She must have endured a great deal of solicitude and a great deal of suffering, during her life ; but it must have gone far toward counterbalancing it all, to be remembered thus, under such circumstances, by such a son. HUMAN DUTY. 75 A difference between the gospels and the epistles. CHAPTER III. HUMAN DUTY, OR THE SAVIOR'S MESSAGE TO MANKIND. " And they went out and preached that men should repent." It is a remarkable fact, and one which has often surprised careful readers of the Bible, that scarcely any thing is said by our Savior himself, in regard to his own sufferings, as the ground of human salvation, while the writings and addresses of the apostles are full of this theme. There is a most ex- traordinary contrast, in this respect, between the gospels and the epistles. In the former, Christ's sufferings and death are scarcely ever spoken of, in the latter, nothing is spoken of so much. This state of the case has, on the one hand, led many persons to underrate the influence and importance of our Savior's sufferings and death, and they defend their views by referring to the nature of our Savior's instructions. Others err on the other side, by taking the epistles as their only model,— not sufficiently considering the character of Christ's instructions. Others are embarrassed when they think on this subject ; they do not know how to reconcile the seeming inconsistency, though they endeavor to diminish it, as far as possible, by exaggerating and emphasizing the little which Jesus Christ did say, in regard to his sufferings and death. We ought always to suspect ourselves when we are attempting to get out of Scriptural difficulties in this way ;— by loading passages of Scripture with more meaning than they will naturally bear ; a process very common among 76 THE CORNER-STONE. Wrong way to read the Bible. Right way. The school-house. theological writers. The "best way is to allow the Bible to speak for itself. We must not attempt to improve it, but just let it tell its own story, in its own way. The man who, when he reads some of the strong, decided passages in the Epistles, ascribing all hope of human salvation to the atoning sacrifice of the Son of God, finds himself holding back from the writer's view, endeavoring to qualify the language or to explain it away, is not studying the Bible in the right spirit. On the other hand, he who can not take the directions which Christ or John gave, for beginning a life of piety by simple repentance for the past, without adding something from his own theological stores, or forcing the language to express what never could have been understood by those who origin- ally heard it, — he can not be studying this book with the right spirit. "We must take the Bible as it is ; and there certainly is a very striking and extraordinary difference, between the public instructions of our Savior himself, and those of his apostles, in respect to the prominence given to the efficacy of his sufferings in preparing the way for the salvation of men. Let us look into this. Whenever, under any government, a wrong is done, there is, as any one will see, a broad distinction to be observed be- tween the measures which the government must adopt, in order to render it safe to pardon the perpetrator of it, and the conditions with which the guilty individual is required to comply, in order to avail himself of the offer. To make this plain, even to my younger readers, I will describe a case. It illustrates the principle, I admit, on a very small scale. In a remote and newly-settled town in New England, on the shore of a beautiful pond, under a hill covered and sur- rounded with forests, was a small school-house, to which, during the leisure months of the winter, thirty or forty boys and girls gathered, day after day, from the small farm-houses, which were scattered over the valleys around. One evening HUMAN DUTY. 77 A stormy night. Trouble. The lost cap. a sort of exhibition was held there. Before the time had arrived, there had been indications of an approaching snow- storm. These indications increased during the evening ; and when, at the close of the evening, the assembly began to dis- perse, they found that the storm had fairly set in. The master was sitting at his desk, putting away his papers, and preparing to go home. The snow was beating against the windows, and the aspect of the cold and stormy weather without made many of the scholars reluctant to leave the warm and bright fire, which was still burning on the spacious hearth. For many of them sleighs were to be sent by their friends ; others, who were prepared themselves to go forth, were waiting for their companions to get ready ; and every minute or two the door would open and admit a boy shivering with cold, and white with snow. Presently the master heard some voices at the door, in which he could distinguish tones of complaint and suffering. Several of the boys seemed to be talking together, apparently about some act of injustice which had occurred, and after waiting a few minutes, the master sent for all the boys who were standing at the door, to come to him. Half a dozen boys immediately walked eagerly in, and behind them followed one, more reluctantly ; his head was bare, and he had evidently been in tears. As this company entered the room, the conversation among the other children was hushed, and all their preparations were suspended, and every face was turned with an expression of eager interest toward the master, as the group approached him. "William," said the master to one of the foremost boys, " there seems to have been some trouble ; will you tell me what it is ?" " Yes, sir : Joe Symmes threw his cap," — pointing to the sorrowful-looking boy in the rear, — "off upon the pond, and it has blown away and he can not find it." 78 THE CORNER-STONE. Conversation. The teacher's perplexity. " Joseph," said the master, " is it so ?" Joseph acknowledged the fact. It appeared, on more careful inquiry, that there had been some angry collision between the boys, in which Joseph had been almost entirely to blame ; and it was a case of that kind of tyranny of the stronger, which is so common among school-boys. In the end, he had seized his schoolmate's cap, and thrown it off upon the icy surface of the pond, over which it had glided away with the driving wind and snow, and was soon lost from view. Joseph said he knew that it was wrong, and he was sorry. He said he ran after the cap as soon as it was gone, but he lost sight of it, and that now he did not know what he could do to get it again. The master told the boys that they might go to the fire, while he considered for a few minutes what he ought to do. When left alone, the teacher reflected that there were two separate subjects of consideration for him. First there was an individual who had been guilty of an act of injustice. Next there was a little community, who had been witnesses of that injustice, and were all in suspense, waiting to know what would follow. "I am unwilling to punish Joseph," thought he, "for he seems to be sorry for what he has done, and I think it highly probable that he will not repeat the wrong ; but if I allow such a case to pass with a mere reproof, I fear it will do in- jury to the school. The boys will have less abhorrence in future for acts of injustice and oppression by the stronger, than they have had. Just in proportion as they see sin, without seeing sad results coming from it to the sinner, they will lose their sensitiveness to its guilt. I must not allow this case to pass without something to make the right moral impression upon those who have witnessed it. I wish that I could do this without bringing suffering upon Joseph, but I do not see how I can." HUMAN DUTY. 79 The plan formed. Penitence necessary before forgiveness. " Ah ! I see what I can do," thought he ; "I will take the suffering myself. Yes ; I will forgive Joseph at. once, and then I will go out myself and find the cap, or help them find it, and when the scholars see* that the consequences of this offense comes upon my head, bringing me inconvenience and even suffering, especially if they see me bear it with a kind and forgiving spirit, perhaps it will do as much good as punishing Joseph would do. Yes ; I know that all my pupils, and Joseph among the rest, are strongly attached to me, and I am sure that when they see me going out into the cold storm, over the ice, and through the snow, to repair the injury which lie has done, it will make a strong impression. In fact it will, I am sure, touch them more effectually, and produce a much stronger dislike to such a spirit, than four times as much inconvenience and suffering inflicted as a punishment upon Joseph himself." It is evident now that such a plan would be safe and proper only on supposition that Joseph is really sorry for what he has done. The course proposed would be altogether inadmissible, if the offender, instead of being humble and penitent, should appear angry and stubborn. On the other hand, if the master's plan was a wise one, although real penitence on the part of Joseph would be absolutely necessary, nothing else would be necessary. He need not know any thing about the plan on which the master relies, for producing the right moral impression on the little community. Now the whole object of this illustration, is to bring clearly forward the distinction, between wnat is necessary as a measure of government — in order to prepare the way to offer pardon, and what is necessary as an act of the criminal, in order to enable him to receive it. It is very evident, in this case, that these two things are entirely distinct and disconnected, and that it is not at all 80 THE CORNER-STONE. A dialogue. Forgiveness of Joseph. necessary that Joseph should know the ground on which the teacher concluded it safe for him to be forgiven. The master's suffering the inconvenience and trouble is an essential thing to be done, in order to render it safe to forgive ; but it is not an essential thing to be known, at the time forgiveness is declared. In fact, the most delicate and most successful mode of managing the affair, would be for the master to say nothing about the philosophy of his course of action, but simply to adopt his course, and leave it to pro- duce its own natural and proper effects. Accordingly the master, in this case, after a few minutes of reflection, called the boys to him again. " Joseph," said he, " you have done wrong, in oppress- ing one younger and weaker than yourself, and I might justly punish you. I have concluded however to forgive you ; — that is if you are sorry for the wrong. Are you sorry ?" " Yes, sir, I am/' replied the boy distinctly. " Are you willing to make proper reparation, if I will tell you what to do ?" " Yes, sir." " James," continued the master, " are you willing that he should be forgiven ?" " Yes, sir, I am willing he should be forgiven ; but how shall I get my cap ?" " I will talk with you about that, presently. You see that is another part of the subject ; the question now is, what is to be done with Joseph ? He has done wrong, and might justly be punished, but he is sorry for it, and in this case, I conclude not to punish him." If the whole subject were to be left here, the reader will perceive how incomplete and unfinished the transaction would be considered, in respect to its effects on those who witnessed it. It would, if left here, bring down the standard HUMAN DUTY. 81 The teacher'3 walk. Effect on the boys. His return. of justice and kindness among the boys. And if the pupils had been accustomed to an efficient government, they would be surprised at such a result. But still, though the teacher had something in reserve to prevent such an injury, it was not, as I have said before, at all necessary, nay, it was not expedient, that he should say any thing about it, thus far. Joseph's penitence was essen- tial to render his pardon proper. This it was indeed neces- sary for him to understand. The measure to be adopted was essential to render that pardon safe. This it was essen- tial for no one but the master to understand. It was neces- sary that the moral effect should be produced on all, but the measure which the master had in view for producing it, might safely remain unexplained, till the time came for putting it into execution. After all was thus settled with the boys, the master took down his cloak, and said that he would go out and see if he could find the cap. Joseph wished to go with him, but his teacher replied, that it would do no good for him to go out in the cold too ; — it might be necessary to go quite across the pond. He however asked Joseph to show him exactly where he had thrown the cap, and then, noticing the direction of the wind, the master walked on in pursuit. A cluster of boys stood at the door, and the girls crowded at the windows to see their teacher work his way over the slippery surface, stopping to examine every dark object, and exploring with his feet every little drift of snow. They said nothing about the philosophy of the transaction ; in fact, they did not understand it. The theory of moral government' was a science unknown to them ; but every heart was warm with gratitude to their teacher, and alive to a vivid sense of the criminality of such conduct as had resulted thus. And when, after a time, they saw him returning with the cap in his hand, which he had found half buried in the snow, under 82 THE CORNER-STONE. Moral effect of Christ's sufferings. THE LOST CAP, a bank on the opposite shore, there was not one whose heart was not full of affection and gratitude toward the teacher and of displeasure at the sin. And the teacher himself, though he said not a word in explanation, felt that by that occurrence, a more effectual blow had been struck at every thing like unkindness and ill-will among his pupils, than would have been secured by any reproofs he could have admin- istered, or by any plan of punishment, however just and severe. Such a case is analogous, in many respects, to the meas- ures which God has adopted to make the forgiveness of hu- man guilt safe. It is' only one point, however, of the analogy which I wish the reader to observe here, namely, that though the measure in question was a thing essential for the master to do, it was not essential for the criminal to understand, at the time he was forgiven. HUMAN DUTY. S3 Essentials. The penitent child. So in regard to the moral effect of God's government, pro- duced by the sufferings of Jesus Christ, in preparing the way for the forgiveness of sin. The measure itself was necessary to render free forgiveness safe, but a clear understanding of its nature and of its moral effect, is not always necessary to enable the individual sinner to avail himself of it. In the early ages of the world, it was obscurely intimated to men, that, through some future descendant of Abraham, measures were to be adopted, which would open the way for the expiation of human guilt. What these measures were, few, if any, understood. Men were, in many cases, anxiously waiting for a development of them, but, in the mean time, it was universally understood, that if any man would forsake his sins and serve Jehovah, he would be forgiven. The sim- ple proclamation, " Repent and be forgiven," went every- where. The ground, on which such a proclamation could be safe and wise, it was for God alone to consider, and to reveal to men, just as soon, and just as extensively, as he might see fit. Let it be understood, that I am speaking of what is essen- tial, not what is desirable. The knowledge of our Savior's sufferings and death, and clear ideas of the grounds of them, have been in every age, the most powerful of all possible means of impressing the heart, and leading men to God. Still they are not the only means. Man could not have been forgiven if Christ did not die, but he may be forgiven, and yet not know that Christ died, till he actually meets him in heaven. The moment a little child, for instance, is capable of know- ing that it has a Maker, and of discerning between right and wrong, it is capable of loving God, and feeling penitence for sin ; and the mysterious influences of the Spirit may as easily awaken these feelings at this age, as at any other. It can be forgiven, however, only through the sufferings of its 84 THE CORNER-STONE. The shipwrecked minister. The savages. Savior, and yet months must elapse, before it can know any thing about these sufferings ; and years, before it can look into the principles of government enough, to see why they were necessary, or to appreciate at all the moral impression which they produce. Suppose a Christian minister is thrown by shipwreck upon a savage island, and in a state of sickness and exhaustion so great, that he feels that I13 must sink in a few days to the grave. He knows nothing of the language of the islanders, but he soon succeeds, by careful attention, in obtaining phrases enough to preach the simple duty of repentance. " There is a God," he says to those around him in his dy- ing hour. " He will punish the wicked. Become good and you will please him." " Ah !" reply the savages, " we have all been wicked al- ready, — very wicked." " Think not about the past," he replies. " It will be for- given : — there is a way — I can not explain it. Leave your wickedness and do right, and God will save you." As he utters these words, his strength fails, and his au- dience can hear no more. But they have heard enough. I do not say enough to induce them to forsake their sins and return to God, but to show them how to do it. And if men, after hearing only such a sermon as that, were to continue their lives of wickedness, and die unchanged, it would still be true, that the opportunity of mercy had been fully before them. " "We did not know," they might say, when called to ac- count, " that a Savior had died for us, and consequently could not know how we could be forgiven." " You are without excuse," the judge might reply. " It was for you to abandon your sins ; — It was for me to consider how you could be forgiven." Now every savage that ever lived has had just such a ser- HUMAN DUTY. 86 Conscience, the universal monitor. John the Baptist. Jonah. mon as this preached to him. Not by a Christian minister, indeed, wrecked on the reefs of his island, but by a far more faithful and intelligible preacher than any such would be. Conscience, the universal ambassador from heaven, has been unceasingly faithful, in every age, and in every clime, preach- ing repentance, and op3ning the door of salvation to every human soul. That our fellow-men do almost invariably, if left to this warning voice alone, disregard it and persist in sin, is indeed true ; but at the day of judgment, it will ap- pear that, of all the countless millions of the human family, though but a very small portion ever heard of a Savior, there never was one, who might not have been saved through his death, if he had done what God, during all his life, was con- tinually calling him to do. Though this preaching, that is, the simple call to repent- ance, is generally powerless over unenlightened and pagan minds, it is not always so. In the Jewish nation, there were undoubtedly a great many penitent and pardoned men, though they knew little or nothing of their future Savior. John the Baptist undoubtedly made many true converts ; even Jonah's preaching was successful ; and a hundred and twenty, at least, were found to have received aright the instructions of our Savior, though even his apostles do not appear to have fully understood before his death, that he was to be crucified for them. It is so too in our times. True piety, unquestion- ably, often exists where there is a very imperfect understanding, or at least a very limited appreciation, of the nature of the great sacrifice for sin. This fact is very evident to all, though it often very much embarrasses those who do not properly dis- tinguish between what is necessary for man to do, in order to be saved, and what it is necessary for God to do, in order to render it safe to save him. On this latter point, the hu- man soul may be kept in the dark by a thousand circum- stances, for which it is not responsible : but in regard to the 86 THE CORNER-STONE. ' Voice of conscience. Personal duty plain, though universally neglected. former, it can not be kept in ignorance, or led into mistake. Conscience may indeed be perverted ; but still it will some- times speak, — more or less distinctly it is true, — but it will speak : and not a human being can get through his time of trial here, without hearing its warning. God has given it a message to every one, which, if heeded, will secure sal- vation ; and that message it will, in every case, most assur- edly deliver. It seems, then, that Jesus Christ very clearly recognized the distinction between the provision which God must make, in order to open the way for human salvation, and the part which man must perform, to avail himself of it ; and it is the last, very evidently, which it is of direct and immediate importance to man to know. It was the last which he accordingly devoted his chief time and attention in urging on man, — namely, his own personal, immediate duty. They who heard him were indeed inexcusable before, but the clearness, the distinctness and the emphasis, with which he brought forward the claims of God over human hearts, ren- dered them more inexcusable still. And here I must remark, that this mode of attempting to turn men to God, met with only very partial success. Jesus Christ succeeded in persuading very few. It was not till afterward, when the love of Christ in dying for men was loudly and universally proclaimed, that hearts were touched and penitence awakened. But still this preaching of th'3 sufferings of Christ afterward, was not throwing additional light upon duty, — it was only a new inducement to do it The great duty, repentance for sin, was the same afterward as before. The only difference was, that men were more easily led to repent after they had learned the greatness of the sacrifice by which alone penitence could be available. They ought, however, to have repented before ; if they had HUMAN DUTY. 87 God's design in the creation. done so, God would have forgiven them, though they could not have understood how such forgiveness could safely be bestowed. And so it is now. By the sacrifice of the Son of God, the door of salvation on repentance, is opened to every human being on the globe.* But to return. The great subject of Christ's instructions seems to have been simply, human duty. It was his object to explain, not the great arrangements and measures of God's government, but the duties which each individual sinner had personally to perform. In order to exhibit clearly the ground which our Savior occupied in his public ministrations, we must consider the plan which the Creator seems to have formed for the human race, when he determined to call them into being. His de- sign is represented to us to have been to form one great, united and happy family, over which he should himself reign as the beloved and acknowledged sovereign. All the re- sources of his wisdom and power were to be employed to promote the happiness of his creatures, and he designed they should themselves all co-operate with him in these aims, each being interested in the happiness of all the others, and joined together in him. Many a father aims at promoting such a feeling of mutual good- will among his children, and of dependence and attachment toward him as their head, * It has often been made a question among religious writers, wheth er, in point of fact, repentance and salvation ever come to the inhab- itants of those benighted countries, where the Savior has never been known. Into this question we do not now enter ; that is, it is not our design here to inquire whether they ever do repent and forsake their sins, but only to exhibit the sentiment held up by the apostle, in the first chapter to the Romans, that God has not left himself without witness to any son or daughter of Adam. It is certain that if they would listen to this voice, and repent of sin, they would be forgiven. Whether they ever actually do this, or not, is a question which we consider more fullv in the following chapter. 88 THE CORNER-STONE. The ten commandments. while he, nevertheless, steadily refuses to come under the same system in his relation to God, who is the great head of the family to which he himself belongs. The children of such a father, one would suppose, might often see the contrast between the filial and fraternal duty which he is billing to perform himself, and that which he expects of them. Taking this view of the design of God, in regard to the family of man, we shall be surprised to see how admirably adapted to secure it that code of laws is, which he originally gave to men. We have read the ten commandments so many times, nay, they have been so long, and so indelibly impressed on the memory, that it is difficult for us to ap- proach them in such a way, as to get a fresh and vivid conception of their character. To obviate, in some degree, this difficulty, I give the substance of them in other lan- guage, so that the reader may see more clearly, by looking at them, as it were, in a new light, with what admirable skill they are adapted to the object. The wisest assembly of statesmen or legislators which ever convened, if called together to form a code for all the world, — one to apply to every nation, and to operate through all time, could not have made a better selection of points to be brought forward, or arranged them with more scientific and logical precision, or expressed them in clearer terms. And yet the infidel affects to believe that they were the production of the half civilized leader of a wandering horde, — contrived just to assist their author in maintaining an influence over his semi-barbarous followers ! But let us look at this code. THE MORAL LAW. I. DUTY TO GOD. First 1- Your Maker must be the highest object Commandment. f y 0ur interest and affection. Allow nothing HUMAN DUTY. 89 Analysis of the moral law. to take precedence of him ; but make it your first and great desire to please him and to obey his commands. 2. You are never to speak of him lightly or with irreverence, and you are not to regard any Second visible object as the representative of him. and Third He is a spirit, invisible from his very nature, Commandments. and you must worship him in spirit and in truth. 3. Consecrate one day in seven to the wor- ship of God, and to your own religious improve- Fourth ment. Entirety suspend, for this purpose, all Commandment, worldly employments, and sacredly devote the day to God. II. DUTY TO PARENTS. You are placed in this world under the care of parents, whom God makes his vicegerents, to provide for your early wants, and to afford Fifth you protection. Now you must obey and honor Commandment, them. Do what they command you, comply with their wishes, and always treat them with respect and affection. in. DUTY TO MANKIND. Keep constantly in view, in all your inter- course with men, their welfare and happiness, as well as your own. Conscientiously respect the rights of others, in regard, 1 . To the Security of life. Commandment. 2. To the peace and happiness of the family, commandment. 3. TO property. Commitment 4. To reputation. Commandment. )0 THE CORNER-STONE. Its character. Effects of obedience to it. Iii keeping these commands, too, you must Tenth regulate your heart as well as your conduct. Commandment. q 0( j forbids the unholy desire, as much as he does the unholy action. Such is God's moral law. And we may triumphantly ask, where is the statesman or philosopher, who with all the light and the experience of modern times, can improve it. In giving it as above, I have made no change except to alter the language, so as to present it with freshness to the reader, — and to number its sections, so as to bring its admirable ar- rangement more distinctly to view. I have not omitted one of its provisions, or added one not originally there, nor altered the position of a single command. Even the logical precision of arrangement, which is exhibited above, is not the result of any artificial systematizing of mine. The form in which I have presented the code only brings to view the logical perfection which the code itself in its usual form presents, as is evident from the fact that I follow the precise order of the commands, without omitting or changing the position of one of them. Look, then, at this law again, and imagine it perfectly obeyed in this world. What a scene of peace and happiness it would insure. And yet this is the law which men will persist in refusing to obey, and the infraction of which con- stitutes the whole controversy pending between God and man. This law the human race will not conform to. They never have conformed to it, and they will not begin. And yet disregarded, violated, trampled upon as it has been by common consent, throughout the whole human family, no man has ever dared to lift up his voice against its justice. From the day when it was first thundered forth on Sinai, it has been loudly proclaiming its commands, conscience, in every bosom, re-echoing its voice ; and the boldest, the wild- HUMAN DUTY. 91 Spiritual obedience to it. The Priest and the Levite. *>,st, the most daring opposer of God, never had a word to utter against the justice and rightfulness of its claims. Now the great design of our Savior's instructions, was to induce men to abandon their sins, and begin at once to keep this law. He explained its spirituality, and brought out to view the two great principles on which all its commands were based ; supreme affection to God, and disinterested be- nevolence toward men. It is most interesting to observe, how directly and clearly Jesus Christ always insisted upon spiritual obedience to the law, — I mean by this, obedience of the heart ; — and how constantly he cut off, in the most decided manner, all those hollow acts of mere external conformity, which men were continually substituting in the place of this spiritual obedi- ence. And it is, if possible, still more interesting to observe, how liberal and expanded were his views in regard to the outward acts by which this heartfelt compliance might be indicated. On the one hand, no act whatever, and no course of life, however seemingly religious, would satisfy him, if there was evidence that the secret feelings of the heart were wrong. On the other hand, no action was too trivial to be a mark of piety, if it only proceeded from the right spirit. For example, here are a priest and a Levite, devoting their lives to their Maker's service. No one doubts their eminent holi- ness. How does the Savior judge ? Why, he leads them along a road which conducts to a spot where a man lies suf- fering. He watches to see what they will do. — They pass by on the other side. Ah, that reveals the secret ! A man may devote his life to the external service of God, without really loving him at all ; but he can not really love him, and yet pass by and neglect a distressed and suffering brother. And so in a thousand other cases. The tests which he ap- plied to the religious professions of those days, and which are equally applicable to the bold, self-sufficient, hollow-hearted 92 THE CORNER-STONE. Various ways of beginning to obey. zeal, which, sometimes displays itself in our times, are char- acterized by a beauty, a clearness, a delicacy, and at the same time by a searching and scrutinizing power, wholly without a parallel. And while he could be deceived by no counterfeit, and would take no specious appearance on trust, but cut away, with a most unsparing hand, all false pretenses, and all mere external show, Ms liberality, in regard to modes by which real, genuine piety should exhibit itself, was unbounded. All that he desired was that the heart should be right. He cared not how its feelings were evinced. He found a man engaged hi his ordinary business, and asked him to leave it and follow him ; another wished to know what he should do to inherit eternal life, and he directed him to employ all his property as a means of doing good ; in another case, he pro- nounced an individual forgiven, merely on account of per- sonal kindness shown to himself ! Sometimes he called on men to repent ; sometimes to believe on him ; sometimes to obey his precepts. He was satisfied of Mary's piety, by the teachable, docile spirit which she manifested, in listening to his conversation in her house ; he pronounced many persons forgiven, on account of the feeling with which they came to be healed ; and even when the malefactor on the cross asked to be remembered by Jesus in paradise, the Savior considered those words alone, as the external indications of a renewed heart. It is very evident that he thought it of comparatively little consequence what men did first, in beginnirfg to serve God. The great point was to induce them to serve him at all. We are very slow to follow his example in this respect. We are prone to insist upon some precise way in which all men shall repent and be saved. We arrange the steps, and must have them taken in their exact, prescribed order, and if these steps are not followed, we are suspicious and afraid, whatever HUMAN DUTY. 93 The absent master. The disobedient boys. Expostulation. How to begin. may be the ultimate fruits. We consider the case anoma- lous, if we are compelled to admit it to be genuine. A master of a family, we will suppose, goes away from home, leaving his sons in charge of his affairs, and giving them employment, in which he urges them to be diligent and faithful until his return. After he leaves them, how- ever, they all neglect their duty, and live in idleness, or oc- cupy themselves solely with their amusements. A friend comes in, and remonstrates with them. He gives them a labored account of the radical defects in their hearts, the philosophical distinction between dutiful and undutiful sons, and the metaphysical steps of a change from one character to the other. His discourse is all perfectly true, and admira- bly philosophical, but it is sadly impotent, in regard to making any impression on human hearts. Another man comes to address them in a different mode. He calls upon them at once to return to their duty. " What shall we do first ?" ask the boys. " Do first ? do any thing first ; there is the garden to be weeded, and the library to be arranged, and your rooms to be put in order. No matter what you do first. Begin to obey your father ; that is the point." As he says this he goes around the premises, and, as he finds one after another, loitering in idleness or mischief, he callsfcupon them to return to duty. They are awakened ; they see, more distinctly than they had done, their negligence and guilt ; and as they come successively, to know what they shall do, he points out to their attention various tasks, according to the age and situation of each. His object is not merely external, but sincere and heartfelt obedience, but he cares little by what particular act the new course of obedi- ence begins. It is just so with the preaching of Jesus Christ. He ex- plained the purity and beauty and perfection o£ God's holy 94 THE CORNER-STONE. Giving cold water. Holiness is submission. law, and then called upon men everywhere to begin to live in conformity to it. In obeying this call it is no matter what men do first. No matter with what particular aspect the dawning light of Christianity first shines ; let it enter where it will, it will rise and spread till it illuminates the whole. Nor can any external action, if it comes from the right spirit, be too unimportant to constitute the first step in a Christian course. Jesus Christ acted on this principle most fully. He even said that if a man w r ould give a cup of cold ivater, to a disciple, in the name of Christ, that is, acting himself under the influence of Christian feeling, he should not lose his re- ward ! Nor is that remark a mere metaphor, striking and beauti- ful as it is. It is strictly true, that giving a cup of water to a follower of the Savior, may be the first act of a religious life. A man who has been neglecting or opposing religion all his days, may be asked by a Christian, some trifling favor like that, and the opportunity of promoting, even in so slight a degree, the cause which he had been opposing, might so bring to his yiew the happiness of co-operating with God, in con- trast to the misery and guilt of opposing him, that his heart might melt at once, and he might perform that little deed of kindness, in the exercise of his very first feeling of submission to his Maker. The course which our Savior ' pursued is the mos#*per* fectly philosophical. Holiness is submission to God's law ; and though, in principle and spirit, it is always the same, it assumes in the heart many different forms ; or rather a holy heart, a heart willing to submit, will exist in many different states, according to the objects presented to it. Hold up the kindness and mercy of God to its view, and it feels grateful ; present its past sins, and it mourns : show God's goodness, and the leading principles of his government and character, and it rejoidJl. Thus holiness looking at sin, is penitence ; HUMAN DUTY. 95 Various forms of piety. The conversion of a little child. at God, is joy ; at duty, resolution ; at self, humility ; at human woes, compassion. In Abraham, it shone as obe- dience ; in Job, as patience ; in John, as love. AnoJ yet in all it is one. If it exist in one form, it will exist in each of the others, when*the circumstances call for them. Job would have been obedient if God had commanded him to* leave his country, and Abraham would have been patient under suffering, like Job. We hear nothing of Joseph's penitence, nor of Samuel's faith in Christ, nor of Daniel's brotherly love. But it was the same spirit nevertheless, which reigned in all these hearts, appearing by different exhibitions, but in all its hundred forms remaining still the same. It was holiness, — attachment to the cause of God, — desire to keep his pure and perfect law, and submission to his will. This spirit shines in various hues, and with different degrees of luster, according to the varying circumstances and conditions of the hearts in which it bums. But it is the same spirit, whether it guides Abraham across the desert, or in- spires David's songs of praise ; whether it leads Peter to penitence, fills Stephen's heart with peace and joy, — or brings thousands in the streets of Jerusalem, to believe in the Savior and forsake their sins. It is not enough, to say that these various Christian graces are all of one family ; they are all in essence one and the same thing : so that if one d*mes, the others will inevitably, as circumstances call them, all follow in their train. This view of the subject is of immense practical impor- tance to all who are endeavoring, at the present day, to promote piety. It shows us how very various, and how entirely different, may be the first steps of the return to God. You have under your care,, for instance, a little child. He is too young to know much about religious truth ; — the nature of forgiveness, — the necessity of punishment, — the love of the Savior, — or a judgment to come. You can tell him of 96 THE CORNER-STONE. Spiritual darkness. Way to remove it. God, however ; his existence, his presence, his holy charac- ter ; and then you can just ask him, some morning, to do right that day for the sake of pleasing God. Perhaps he will not. He may try to do right, for the purpose of receiv- ing your praises or rewards, without feeling, however, any desire to please God. On the other hand, perhaps he will. If he does, it will indeed be through an influence exerted upon his tender affections, in answer to your prayers ; hut he may be, and probably in many instances, children have been, under just such circumstances, turned to God, and led to be- gin a service which they are still continuing in heaven. Many children have thus been reconciled to God, when they were too young to know any thing about the source of spiritual life within them, or even the existence of that Savior, through whose death alone, they were finally declared justified and forgiven. There are many modes by which the human soul may be shut up in darkness, besides through the weakness and im- maturity of infantile powers. There are the inveterate pre- judices of an erroneous education, the influence of mistaken friends, the colored medium through which religious truth is seen, or distortions and interruptions of various kinds in the channels by which it is conveyed to them. If now, in any such case, means can be brought to bear upon the heart, so as by divine assistance to awaken any one Christian gMtee,- any single truly Christian feeling, — the danger is over. A stone is taken out of the firmly-compacted arch of impeni- tence and sin, and the whole structure must crumble down. Listening to arguments for the truth will often confirm men in error, but doing their duty will inevitably break the chain. "If any man will do his will," said Jesus, "he shall know of the doctrine ;" and it would be well if speculating, doubt- ing inquirers everywhere would learn from it, that practical obedience should come before speculations in theology — that HUMAN DUTY. 97 The various ways of turning to God. they had better begin to do God's will first, and discuss the principles of his government afterward. But we are wandering from our subject, which is the fact that Jesus Christ spent all his strength in inducing men to submit in heart to God, and to keep his holy law, and that if he found them in heart willing to do this, he was but little solicitous about the precise act by which the new life should begin. T^se acts were various then, and they arc various now. A young man, for example, having hesitated between the service of his Maker and the service of sin, walks out alone on a summer's evening up- on the sea-shore, and there, while meditating upon his character and condition, he resolves that he will hesitate no longer, but that he will return to his Ma- ker ; and he utters with honest sincerity, and from his heart, the Lord's prayer, — language which he has often uttered, though without feeling, before. His first Christian exercise is prayer. Another, is overwhelmed with conviction of sin ; and suffers hour after hour, or day after day, under its oppressive load. At last his heart suddenly feels, and appreciates, and re- joices in, the goodness and holiness against which he has been contending ; he bursts forth in ascriptions of praise, and all nature seems to become suddenly resplendent with his Maker's glory. His first Christian feeling is joy Another's E THE WALK. 98 THE CORNER-STONE. Forms and ceremonies. Do this. heart melts into godly and heartfelt sorrow for its sins ; the first renewed emotion in this case, is penitence. There is no end to the variety of forms which the movements of spiritual life assumes ; and Jesus Christ, while he most vigorously in sisted that there should be real, genuine, heartfelt obedience to The Law, attached no importance to the particular act by which it should first be rendered. There is one subject more, which must be considered here. I refer to the view which our Savior took of the forms and ceremonies of religion. His principle was this. He devoted all his strength to secure spiritual principles ; and in regard to all its ceremonial aspects, he left religion to accommodate itself to the varying tastes and habits of mankind, and to the changing customs and states of society, which the progress of time occasions. It is remarkable how little he specified in respect to modes and forms. He did not even arrange any form of church government for his own times, nor give any specific directions in regard to any christian ceremonies ; an example unparalleled, we believe, among the founders of religions. There is something peculiarly striking in this point of view, in his manner of instituting the celebration of the supper. Instead of having a sort of code drawn up, specifying the various parts of the ceremony, the kind of elements to be used, the frequency of the performances, and the various attending circumstances, — he simply says, at the close of his last supper, as they were about to depart, — " Do this in remembrance of me." This. One w r ord contains the whole description. He could not have left it more vaguely and indefinitely expressed ; and they who press the forms of Christianity, while they forget its spirit, can not be more pointedly reproved than by asking them to contrast the clearness, the point, the emphasis, the discriminating preci sion, with which Christ pressed spiritual duties upon men, with the unconcerned and almost careless air, with which HUMAN DUTY. 99 Practice of the apostles. Example of Christ. Changes necessary. he dismissed the whole subject of the most, solemn ceremony which he established, with, " Do this, in remembrance of me." After our Savior's death, the apostles, animated by the same spirit, gradually established modes of church govern- ment for the exigencies of their own times. They modified them as occasion required, and so careful were they to leave no record of a mode, which might subsequently be made a rule, that no ingenuity has been able to make out any one consistent system, from the various partial directions which they gave. And even could this be done, it would be no authority for us. I repeat it, — if a clear and consistent system of church government and of modes of worship could be deduced from the practice merely of the apostles, it would be no rule for us. We are bound to believe the asser- tions of inspired men, but not by any means to imitate their practice. Their practice was often wrong ; though this is not what we here refer to. It is because the circumstances in which they were placed, — the state of society and the con- dition of the world, — were peculiar, and from the very nature of the case, they must have been left to make arrangements adapted to their circumstances, but which would be inex- pedient in ours. Their practice, therefore, even where we admit that they were right, is of no binding obligation on us. So that, though we are required to believe what the apostles said, we are not required to do what they did, unless we are placed in the same circumstances with them. In fact, if we are to go back at all, for the authority of practice, on this subject, we ought to go back to the fountain-head, and imi- tate the Savior himself; that is, employ none but itinerant preachers, and send them out two and tiuo ! The conclu- sion is irresistible. No. Nothing can be plainer, than that Jesus Christ meant to secure the spirit of Christianity, and to leave to each age 100 THE CORNER-STONE, Changes necessary. Common error. One great denomination. and nation, the regulation of its forms. He adopted one mode, — the one suited to his purpose. His apostles imme- diately adopted another, which they changed as circumstances required ; and it has gone on changing ever since, and it will go on changing probably until the miHennium, when modes and forms of worship will he as various and as unnumbered, as the domestic and social customs, of the human race, divided as it is, into a thousand nations and dwelling in every va- riety of region and clime. The narrow-minded view, which would have fixed in Judea, eighteen centuries ago, a system of organization to be adopted by all the races of men, and to continue unchanged for forty centuries, would have worked incalculable mischief. Emergencies continually occur, demanding new efforts, on new or modified plans. Sometimes great denominations arise thus, and accomplish what existing orgamzations could not have effected. At other times, gradual political changes so alter the genius, and character, and habits of a people, that the external form in which Christianity embodies itself must change too. It is the spirit alone that remains station- ary and common in all. And yet nine tenths of nominal Christians, all over the ivorld, are firmly believing and sincerely wishing, that their own denomination may extend and swallow up the rest, and become universal. But let us consider a moment, what would be the result, if such were the case. That one uni- versal denomination would soon have leaders. It might, or might not be so constituted, as to have them in name and office, but it certainly would have them in reality. G-rant, if you please, that the first set of leaders are really humble, devoted, honest Christians ; what sort of men would be am- bitiously looking up to their posts, and beginning to struggle and crowd for the succession ? "Why there can be no moral effect more certain, than that in such a case, four or five HUMAN DUTY. 10 1 Disastrous results. Spirit of Christianity. generations would place worldly, selfish, ambitious men at the head of the religious interests of the world ! We have had one terrible experiment of the effects of one great denomina- tion, to illustrate this reasoning. God grant that the dark day may never come again. It was thus the spirit of Christianity only that our Savior urged. He proclaimed forgiveness oto all who would abandon their sins, and return to God, and obey the great moral law, which had been enacted for the general happiness. He pro- claimed the fact that forgiveness was sure, and thus opened the door of hope to every man ; but he did not say much about the dark path of sorrow and suffering, which he should himself have to tread, in order to open the way. It seems as if, with the delicacy which always characterizes ardent love, he would not inform men of the sufferings which he was about to bear for them. He assured them they might be for- given, but he never reminded them of their obligations to him for purchasing their pardon. Even his disciples, till they came to see him die, had no conception of his love. They learned it at last, however. They saw him suffer, and inspi- ration from above explained to them something about the influence of his death. They had enjoyed its benefits long be- fore, in peace with God, forgiveness of sin, and hope of heaven ; but now for the first time, they understood how those benefits were procured. It is hard to say which touches our grati- tude most sensibly ; the ardent love which led him to do what he did, or the delicacy with which he refrained from speaking of it, to those who were to reap its fruits. He did all that he could to save men, and in his interviews with them, spent his time in endeavoring to persuade them to con sent to be saved. His sufferings he left to tell their own story 102 THE COR-NER-STONE. nature, The way to study it. The village. Morning. CHAPTER IV. HUMAN NATURE, OR THE SAVIOR'S RECEPTION AMONG MANKIND. " We will not havo this man to reign over us." In the last chapter we considered our Savior simply as a Teacher ; hereafter we shall have occasion to look at him more particularly as a sufferer. In the mean time, we must devote a few pages to consider the reception, which the principles of duty which he inculcated meet with among men. This brings us at once to the study of human nature ; — and the proper way to study human nature, is to look at it as it exhibits itself in the actual conduct of mankind. If we examine it thus, we shall find it presenting itself in a great many alluring aspects. Look, for instance, at any of those quiet villages which may be found by thousands in every Christian land. When day dawns, the gray light looks into the windows of a hundred dwellings, where honest industry has been enjoying repose. The population is grouped into families, according to the arrangement which God has made, and while the eastern sky reddens and glows by the reflec- tion of the approaching sun, there is, in every dwelling, a mother, actively engaged in providing for the morning wants of the household which God has committed to her care. There is a tie around her heart, binding her to her husband, her children, her home, and to all the domestic duties which devolve upon her. These duties she goes on to discharge, HUMAN NATURE. 103 The wife and mother. Industry. though they are ever renewed and ever the same. She does it day after day, — three hundred and sixty-five times this year, and as many more the next, and the next, perhaps for half a century. What patience ! What persevering indus- try ! and all, not for herself, but for others. At the proper time, all the families of the village assemble, each in its own quiet home, to receive their food. The breakfast hour for one, is the breakfast hour for all. Each conforms to the customs of the others, with as much regular- ity as if these customs were enforced by penal laws. Every one is at liberty, and yet, in all the important arrangements of life, they all agree. And how is this agreement produced ? By the regard which every one has for the opinions and feel- ings of the rest ; a feeling which we can not but look upon with pleasure ; and it reigns in ail human communities, and has almost boundless power in regulating established cus- toms, and preserving the order of society. We next see our villagers going forth to their respective labors. You will observe them issuing from their various dwellings, and repairing to their work, with as much regu- larity as if on a preconcerted signal. The mechanics go to their shops, the tradesman to his store, and the farmers to their fields ; and though there may be here and there an ex- ception, they continue their toil as industriously as if their motions were watched, and all their actions controlled by masters, who had the right and the power to exact from them a stated daily task. And this course of daily active industry is persevered in through life, and all the means of comfort and enjoyment, which it procures, are frugally husbanded. Sickness, death, calamity, may produce an occasional inter- ruption, and even paralyze, for a time, all interest in worldly pursuits and duties ; but the elastic spirit rises again, when the severity of pressure is removed, and again finds occupa- tion and enjoyment in its daily routine. 104 THE COE.NER-STOXE. Benevolence. Exceptions rare. Moral beauty. The moral "beauty of it all consists in the fact, that each man lahors thus industriously, day after day. and year after year, not mainly for himself, but for others. Each has, upon an average, four or five, who are dependents upon him, and it is for them mainly, and not for himself, that he confines himself so constantly to his daily toil. There may he exceptions. Here and there one is idle and dissolute, leaving the inmates of his wretched home to mourn the guilt of the husband and father, and to feel its bitter con- sequences. But it is only here and there one ; and in almost every such case the ills which the sufferers would otherwise have to bear, are very much alleviated by the assistance of neighbors, who can not well enjoy their own comforts at their own homes, until they have relieved the pressure of want that is so near them. The great majority however are faithful to their trust ; held to duty, not by compulsion, nor by fear of penalty, but by a tie which God has fastened round the heart, and whose control men love to obey. The reader may perhaps say that there is no virtue in all this seeming benevolence, because such is the nature of the tie, by which the father and the mother are bound to their household, that the faithful discharge of their own domestic duties is the way to secure the highest and purest happiness to themselves. It is so, undoubtedly ; and this is in fact the very moral beauty which we have been endeavoring to point out, that in a case of such universal application, the human heart is such, that it can find, and does find, its own purest and highest enjoyment in unceasing efforts to promote the enjoyment of others. Thus the day passes on in our peaceful, quiet village ; the evening brings recreation of various kinds ; some indeed seek guilty pleasures, but far the greater number find happiness at home. Xight brings universal repose, the members of each family sleeping quietly under their own roof, " with HUMAN NATURE. 105 Night. The sick child. The proposal. none to molest or make them afraid." Or if there is a soli- tary one, who prowls about at midnight, to steal, or burn, or kill, he is but one among a thousand, — a rare and abhorred exception to the general rule. If among the families forming this peaceful community, there is one whose members, by unavoidable misfortune, or even by their own improvidence or neglect, have been re- duced to want, those around them will not allow them to suffer. Either by the spontaneous impulse of individual charity, or by a systematic arrangement in which all com- bine, ample provision is made for these wants. Food, cloth- ing, and shelter are provided for those who can not provide them for themselves, that there may be no exception to the general comfort and happiness. Perhaps, however, under one roof there is sickness. A pale and feeble child, who has been a source of unceasing anxiety and trouble to his parents from his very birth, lies in his little couch, restless and feverish, under an attack of some new disease. " Mother, your sleep has been disturbed long enough by its restlessness and its cries. Carry it away to some remote apartment, and leave it there, to moan alone under its suffer- ings, so that you may sleep, for once, undisturbed. If it should die before the morning, you will only be relieved of a continual and heavy burden." " Father, leave the little sufferer to its fate. You will then sleep quietly through the night, and the necessity for toil will be diminished on the morrow. Why should you take such pains, and bear such watching and such fatigue for this child ? Even if he lives, he will never repay you ; but as soon as he becomes a man, he will go out from your roof, away into the world, and you will see him no more. Abandon the little sufferer, therefore, now ;-— send him away to a distant room and leave him." E* 106 THE CORNER-STONE Moral beauty. THE MOTHER. The proposal makes father and mother cling still more closely to their suffering child, and when at midnight every house in the vil- lage seems desolate and still, you will see from the two windows of their chamber, the glow of lamp and fire within, contrasted with the cold white light, with which the moon silvers the windows of other dwellings. In that chamber the sleep- less mother watches, with love which no sacrifices can ex- haust, and no protracted efforts tire. It expands to meet every emergency, and rises higher and higher, in exact pro- portion to the wants and sufferings of its feeble object. The light will continue at those windows, till the morning dawn extinguishes it ; and as long as the loved object needs this watchfulness and care, those windows will show the same signal of sickness and suffering, as regularly and as constantly as night returns. There is a great moral beauty in this, — and in all those principles of human nature, by which heart is bound to heart, and communities are linked together, in bonds of peace and harmony, and of mutual co-operation and good- will. Some persons may indeed say that there is nothing of a moral character in it. We will not contend for a word. There is beauty in it of some sort, it is certain ; for he who can look upon these, and similar aspects of human character, without HUMAN NATURE. .07 Human virtue. Its two foundations. some gratification, is not human. It is beauty of some sort, and it is neither physical nor intellectual beauty ; if any man chooses to apply some other term than moral to characterize it, we will not contend. At any rate, it is human nature. But nearly all that there is which appears alluring in the above views, or any other views, which can be taken of hu- man nature, when left to itself, is to be resolved into two principles. And these principles are such that if virtue can be based upon them at all, it is certainly virtue of the lowest character. The principles are these. Natural Affection, and Policy ; the two foundations on which rest nine tenths of all which is called virtue in this world. There is, indeed, among men, a vast amount of industry and frugality ; of faithful domestic attachment, and persevering performance of the ordinary duties of life ; there is honesty, and conscien- tiousness, and a certain dislike of suffering, which leads to many efforts to remove or alleviate it. But after all, — for we must, to be honest, come to the unpleasant conclusion, — nearly the whole has its only basis in feelings of natural affection, or on views of enlightened policy. The results are beautiful ; they are essential to the well-being, and almost to the existence of society, but when we come honestly to analyze their causes, we shall see that instinctive affection and views of policy produce nearly the whole. God has taken care so to form the human heart, and so to constitute communities, that these influences of natural affection and these considerations of policy shall be enough, in ordinary in- I stances, to protect the outward frame-work of society.- This outward frame-work, therefore, is sustained very well. The rest, — all that is within, the region of the heart, the private feelings and private conduct between man and man, he has attempted to regulate by his law. And what is the conse- quence ? Why what he impels man to do, by fixed and 108 THE CORNER-STONE. The viUage examined. Real characters. certain constitutional tendencies, and what he makes it plainly his interest to do, that is done. But a]l the rest fails. His laws are broken, his authority contemned, and though the exterior fabric of society is protected, as we have seen, and presents so beautiful and imposing an aspect, the heart sickens as we look at what is within. Take our village for instance. If we look at its exterior arrangements, how fair it seems. But the reader would shut this book in displeasure at its harshness, if I were to describe, with any thing like fairness, the feelings and emotions which really reign in the hearts of its inhabitants. The children all know that God their Maker has said to them, " you shall not disobey your father and mother." They care no more for the injunction than for the idl® wind. The mother who watches over her sick child, has perhaps a heart rising against God, repining and unsubmissive. It seems to be an honest village, for the inhabitants do not rob or murder each other in the night ; and yet there is not a man who will trust his neighbor to make a bargain without watching his own inter- ests in it with the utmost eagerness. They seem to be be- nevolent ; that is, they can not bear to witness any physical suffering, and they take measures to alleviate or remove it. The amount of real heartfelt benevolence among them h shown by this fact : that if any man comes forward with a plan for doing good, and asks the co-operation of his neigh- bors, nine out of ten of them will believe that the interest of the solicitor is in some way or other directly connected with tht scheme, and in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, they will be right ! Such a view of human character, on paper, is ob- jected to, and opposed by many ; but still they know that it is in fact true. The very men who object to it act on the presumption of its truth, in all their dealings with others; and their knowledge of mankind is abundantly sufficient to convince them, that if the hearts of the inhabitants of any HUMAN NATURE. 109 The post-office. Apparent virtue. village could be really unmasked, they would present such disclosures of envy, malice, strife, selfishness, ill-will, pride, and revenge, as would justify the strongest language which could possibly be used to describe them. It is astonishing what beautiful, what admirable results. may be secured in human society, by the operation of these natural impulses and views of policy, while each individual of the community may be the abandoned slave of sin. The following is a striking illustration of it. A man may drop a letter containing a hundred dollar bill, into any post-office in the country. He slips it through a little aperture, and does not know who is on the other side. The man who takes it up is a stranger. He passes it into the hands of another stranger ; and thus it goes from hand to hand, from driver to driver, and clerk to clerk, for a thousand miles, and at last his correspondent safely receives the money from some one, he knows not whom. And what has been its protection ? A sheet of paper, fastened with a little colored paste ; or in its condition of greatest security, a leather bag, closed by a lock, which any stone by the side of the road would shatter to pieces. The treasure is thus carried over solitary roads, through forests, and among the mountains ; and is passed from one hand to another, in a state of what would seem to be most complete exposure. What honest men these agents thus trusted, must be ! is the first reflection. Honest ! Why the writer of the letter would not really trust a tenth part of the sum to the honesty of a single one of them. They may be honest, or they may not, but the careless observer who should attribute the safe result to the honesty of the men, would be most grossly deceived. It is an adroit arrange- ment, — most admirably and skillfully planned by human wisdom, and acting by means of principles which God has implanted, — that secures the result. The merchant trusts the money to agents whom he does not know, not because he 110 THE CORNER-STONE. No real difference of opinion about human character. thinks they are honest, but because he knows they are urise; he relies on human nature, but it is the shrewd policy of hu- man nature, — not its sense of justice. Forgetting this distinction has been the means of a great proportion of the disputes which have raged in the world bout human character. In philosophizing upon the subject, a writer of a poetic turn is deluded by the beauty, the moral beauty, we may perhaps safely say, of results, which really depend on very different principles in human hearts, from what they seem to indicate. They who have the most ro- mantic ideas of human nature in theory, do not fail of being sufficiently guarded and suspicious in their dealings with mankind ; or if they do, they soon inevitably become soured by disappointed hopes, and while they panegyrize the race in the mass, they bitterly accuse and reproach it in detail. Be- sides, there is one proof, and that on a most extensive scale, of the real nature of worldly virtue ; it is this, — a fact which no man competent to judge will deny, — that all the arrangements of business in every community, and in every scheme of government which was ever formed by human skill, go on the plan of making it for the interest of men to do right, and not on the plan of confidence in the integrity and moral principle of their hearts. A government and a system of institutions based on the idea that men were, in a majority of cases, disposed to do their duty of their own ac- cord, could not stand a day. But all this is not the worst. It is not the falseness and hollowness of worldly virtues, nor the vices of heart and life which prevail everywhere among men, which are the great subjects of the charge which God makes against us. It is another thing altogether, — viz., that men will not submit to the reign op God over them. This is their settled, determined, universal decision. It is called in the Bible by various names — such as ungodliness, rebellion, unbelief, en- HUMAN NATURE. Ill Alienation from God: settled and universal. mity against God, and many others. Jehovah has proclaimed a law; men disobey it altogether. They do, indeed, some things which are commanded in that law, but then it is only because to do those things happens to suit their convenience. He says to us that we are not our own but his ; — we pay no regard to it, but go on serving ourselves. He says to us that all will soon be over with us in this world, and that in a very short time we must stand in judgment before him. Who believes it ? He charges the man of wealth to act as his Maker's steward in managing his property, and sacredly to appropriate it to his cause ; the wealthy man regards it just as much as he would a similar claim from the beggar in the street. He calls upon men of rank and influence to glorify him by exhibiting pure and holy lives in the conspic- uous stations in which he has placed them ; look at the princes and nobles, the legislators and statesmen of this world, and see how they obey. By his word and by his spirit he tells us of our undying souls, of the value of holi- ness and spiritual peace, and of the deep guilt of sin, of mercy through a Savior, and of eternal life with him in heaven ; men turn away from such subjects in utter con- tempt. These topics, whenever introduced among the vulgar classes of society, will ordinarily be received with open de- rision and scorn ; and the refined circles of society, with as decided, though with a little more polite hostility, will not allow their introduction. There seems to be as real and certain, and determined a combination among men, to ex- clude God and his law, from any actual control over human hearts, as if the standard of open rebellion was raised, and there were gathering around it all the demonstrations of physical resistance. It is sometimes said that the reason why subjects connect- ed with God and religion are so excluded from conversation in polite circles of society, is the fact, that when such sub 112 THE CORNER-STONE. Evidences. Use of God's name. False religions. jects are introduced, they are so often the cloak of hypocrisy and deceit. I know it is so, and this fact constitutes the most complete and overwhelming evidence of the extent to which this world is alienated from God. Even what little professed regard there is for him here, is, two thirds of it, hypocrisy ! This is, in fact, what the objection implies ; and what a story does it tell, in regard to the place which God holds in human hearts. No. As men have generally made up their minds to have nothing to do with God, they are determined to hear nothing about him, unless it be in such general terms, and in such formal ways, as shall not be in danger of making an impression. We may almost wonder how eternal justice can spare this earth from day to day, when we reflect upon what is unquestionably the awful fact, that throughout all those countries where the true God is known, in four cases out of five in which his name is men- tioned at all, it is used in oaths and blasphemies. The World has been full of religions, it is true : but they have been the schemes of designing men, to gain an ascend- ency over the ignorant, by deceiving and bribing that con- science which God has placed in every heart to testify for him. It has been the studied aim of these religions to evade the obligation of moral law, and the authority of a pure and holy, and spiritual Deity. They substitute for these a sys- tem of empty rites and ceremonies, in order to divert the attention of the sentry which God has stationed in the soul, while all the unholy lusts and passions are left unrestrained. The case of the Pharisees presents a specimen which will answer for all. Unjust and cruel toward men, unfaithful and unbelieving toward God, and habitually violating and trampling under foot the whole spirit of his law, they would go out into their gardens, and carefully take one tenth of every little herb which grew there ; and this they would carry with ridiculous solemnity, to the temple of God, to HUMAN NATURE. 113 The door of salvation open. Men will not enter. show their exact observance of his commands ! This is an admirable example of the spirit and nature of all false reli- gions. Men will do any thing else but really give them- selves up to God. They will go barefooted to Jerusalem, for the sake of being sainted on their return ; they will fight under the crescent, for plunder or for military renown ; they will build churches and contribute money to public charities, from a hundred different motives ; but as to coming and really believing all that God has said, and giving up the whole soul to him, entering his service, and looking forward habitually to heaven as their home, they ivill not do it. It has been proposed to them again and again, in every variety of mode, and they will not do it. The prophets proposed it. Men stoned them. Jesus Christ proposed it. They crucified him. The apostles and their immediate successors proposed it. In the course of a very few generations they succeeded in bribing them, by means of worldly rewards and honors, to pervert their message, and leave the world undis- turbed in its sins. The preceding chapter of this work opened, perhaps the reader thought, a very broad door of salvation, and would lead one to ask, who can help being saved. It was indeed a wide door ; one which all might enter ; the condition sim- ple, and universally proclaimed. "Let the wicked forsake his way and the unrighteous man his thoughts : and let him return unto the Lord and he will have mercy upon him ; and to our Goo\ for he will abundantly pardon." " In every nation he that feareth God and worketh righteousness, is accepted of him." But the difficulty is, that, widely ex- tended as the gates of salvation are, and simple as is the entrance, men will not come in. They do not wish to be saved, and they will not seek salvation. They do not love holiness ; they do not like the idea of serving God : peni- tence, humility, broken-hearted submission to God's will, and 114 THE CORNER-STONE. Insincerity among Christians. Open vice and crime. spiritual peace and happiness, they do not like. They wish to be making money, or gaining admiration, or enjoying sensual pleasure ; and persuasion is not merely insufficient to change them, — it does not even tend to change them. You can not change the desires and affections of the heart by persuasion. No ; plain, and simple, and open to every man, as is the way of life, men choose another way, and if the few imperfect exceptions which exist, were not accounted for in the Bible, we should be utterly unable to account for them at all ; so fixed, and settled, and universal a character- istic it is of human nature, to wish to have, in this life, as little as possible to do with God and eternity. Even the little love to God and submission to him which exists, is so adulterated that it scarce deserves the name. The enemies of religion know this very well. They charge us with sel- fishness and ambition and party spirit, as the real springs of a large portion of our pretended efforts in behalf of religion. And they are right. We deny it in our eager controversies with our foes, but every true Christian acknowledges and bewails it in his closet before God. We see thus that the great, the destroying guilt of human souls, is not open vice and crime, but determined and perse- vering alienation from God. The question whether a person becomes vicious and criminal depends almost entirely upon circumstances. A child brought up in the cabin of a smug- gler, or on board a piratical ship, will almost inevitably be- come a robber or murderer ; while on the other hand, the son of Christian parents, who is trained up properly in a Christian land, will almost as inevitably learn to respect and obey the laws. But though they may thus widely differ in external conduct, they may both reject, with equal determi- nation, all the authority of God over them. Both are equal- HUMAN NATURE. 115 Salvation offered to children. Its reception. The little child. ly under the control of a worldly spirit, though they gratify this spirit in different ways. Whenever we present the law of G od to the human soul, and bring home to the conscience and the heaj-,, the sum- mons to surrender to its authority, we meet from all the varieties of human character, with substantially the same reception. Take it to savages on their remote island. Ex- plain the law to them, show its moral perfection ; offer them forgiveness for the past if they will now subdue their pas- sions, and cease their murderous quarrels, and give them- selves up to the service of the pure and holy Spirit, and be- come like him pure, and holy, and merciful, and kind. Will they obey ? Come then to a Christian land, and collect an assem bly of children. Describe to them the cold, cheerless misery of sin ; call their attention to the secret corrodings of remorse, which they all suffer every day. Remind them of their in- gratitude and disobedience to their parents, and their neglect of God ; tell them how rapidly time is flying, and how soon they must appear before their Maker. Describe the moral beauty of a holy character, — pure, docile, faithful, grateful to father and mother, and filled with affection for God,- — the soul resigned and submissive to his will and happy in a sense of his forgiveness and protection. Then ask them to come and give themselves to their Savior, and to begin lives of purity and duty and holiness. What will they do ? They will sit still while you speak, if they have been trained to sit still on such occasions, and perhaps a few may listen with real attention ; but after you have finished all that you have to say, they will go away with hearts as cold toward God as if they had been indurating under the influence of sin for a hundred years. Take younger children then. Here is a little one, just able to run about the floor and talk, and it yet knows little or 116 THE COEXEK.-STOXE. The wealthy merchant. The message to him. nothing about God. It obeys its mother's express commands, because it finds from experience that some unpleasant conse- quences will ensue if it does not obey, and its obedience is just in proportion to the certainty of these consequences. Call this child to you now, and explain to it its duties and obligations to G-od. Attempt to awaken gratitude, filial love, and willingness to obey him. Try, in a word, to establish an acquaintance and communion of feeling between its heart, and the unseen, eternal spirit around it, and to awaken gratitude for his favors, and a desire to please him and to do his will. And what will be your success ? "Why you may excite surprise ; you may arrest a momentary attention, you may awaken awe and even terror, by bringing death and a coming judgment to view. But to link that heart by any substantial tie to its maker and benefactor, and kindest and dearest friend, will baffle all your powers. Make the experiment then upon a maturer mind. Here is a wealthy merchant, engaged in business, which abundant prosperity from God has brought before him. In order that there may be nothing exceptionable in the form and manneT in which his duty as a child of God is brought before him, we will suppose that he is sick, and has sent for his pastor to come and visit him. Let this pastor explain what is meant by the requisition of the Bible, that a man of wealth should feel that his wealth is not his own, but that he holds it as steward. — agent ; — and that he is bound to be faith- ful to the trust committed to him. He knows very well what are the duties of trustee. He understands the distinc- tion between agent and principal ; so that no long explana- tion is necessary. Let the pastor simply call his attention to the point, and bring home to his mind the nearness of eternity, the inconceivable importance of the salvation of his soul, and of the souls of his workmen, his clerks, his sales- men, his navigators ; and plead with him to come out HUMAN NATURE. 117 Enmity against God. The amiable girl. honestly and openly and with all his heart, on the side of God and holiness ; — to let his light shine ; — and to devote every thing that he has to the work of helping forward God's cause in the world. Suppose this experiment were to be tried, who that knows mankind would doubt about the result. One half the Christian pastors in the world would be so convinced of its hopelessness, that they would not make the attempt. They would not ask, plainly and directly, a worldly man, under such circumstances, to give himself up to God. And if they should bring the question forward, plainly and faithfully, and in all its honest truth, instead of winning new converts to God, they would, in nine cases out of ten, in any commercial city in Christendom, excite high displeasure, and very likely never be able to gain admission to that bedside again. Worldly men are very willing to sustain the exter- nal institutions of religion, and to assemble on the Sabbath from time to time to hear praises of the moral virtues, or discussions of the abstract excellences of religion. But you can not take such a text as this, " Ye are not your own, YE ARE BOUGHT WITH THE PRICE, THEREFORE GLORIFY GoD IN YOUE. BODIES AND IN YOUR SPIRITS WHICH ARE God's :" and fairly bring it before men's consciences and hearts, so that they may really understand its meaning, without awakening strong opposition or dislike. It is opposition and dislike to something. They say it is not enmity against God. But that certainly looks very much like enmity against God and his government, which is excited by the presentation of the very fundamental principle of all his laws. But do not let us despair. There may be some one yet, who will admit God, though all these have rejected him Here is an amiable and gentle girl ; obedient to her parents, faithful in many of her duties, affectionate, kind. Let us bring to her the invitation to come into the kingdom of heaven. Exemplary as she is in external conduct, she 118 THE CORNER-STONE. Apparent attention. Real indifference. Almost a Christian. knows very well that her heart would not hear exposure. Envy, self-will, jealousy, pride, often reign there. She knows it ; she feels it ; and her conscience heing still tender, these sins often destroy her peace. Tell her that divine grace will help her to subdue these, her enemies. She sometimes looks forward to future life, and sighs to think how soon it will pass away. Tell her that piety will dispel the darkness that hangs over the grave, and open immortality to her view. She thinks of future trials and difficulties and dangers with dread. Tell her that the Savior is ready to guide her and be her friend ; to protect and bless her at all times, to give her employment, and to be her reward. Spread the whole subject out before her, and urge her to come and give her- self up to God and save her soul. She listens to you with respectful, and perhaps even with pleased attention. Do not be deceived by it. She is, at heart, utterly weary of the gloomy subject. She might like perhaps protection and happiness, but her heart revolts against God and holiness, and you might as well talk to the deaf adder as talk to her. Or if her heart is not entirely braced up and hardened in its determination to have nothing to do with God and religion, — if she is really willing to listen and to read, — she is still just as obstinately determined not to obey. She is called perhaps a religious inquirer. She reads the Bible, and offers a daily prayer, and takes an interest in religious instruction ; but her secret motive is to keep religion withi?i her reach, because she dares not let it go altogether. She is still deter- mined not to give herself up to her duty. She can love her parents, her brothers .and sisters, but her heart is cold and hard against God ; and do all you can to persuade her to come out openly and honestly and cordially on his side, she is fixed, immovably fixed, in refusing to do it. Her religious friends think that she is very near to the kingdom of heaven. A.nd in one sense, she is near. She stands at the very gate HUMAN NATURE. 119 Universal alienation from God. Dead in trespasses and sins. of the celestial city. All obstacles are removed ; she can look in and see the happy mansions and the golden streets. The simple difficulty is, that she will not enter. If you urge her, she attempts to perplex you with metaphysical specula- tions, or listens in respectful silence, and goes away and con- tinues in sin exactly as before. And thus it is all over the world. There are many beau- tiful moral exhibitions to be seen here ; many admirable results ; many alluring aspects of human nature. But after all, any honest observer must see, that between mankind and God their Maker, there is a deep and settled and universal disagreement. They would be willing that God should rule over them, if he would leave them pretty much to them- selves. But this he will not do. His very first and most emphatic command is, " Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and thy neighbor as thyself;" and this they will not do. It is their fixed, their settled, their unchanging determination that they will not do it. Perhaps I ought not to call it a determination ; for it is rather a feeling than a determination, — a disrelish for holi- ness and the spiritual enjoyment of loving and serving God. The heart, sensitive as it is in regard to its own rights and interests, is cold and torpid in regard to its Maker's claims. Motive will not act upon it. Persuasion has no effect, for there is no feeling for persuasion to take hold of. Argument does no good, for though you may convince the understand- ing without much difficulty, the heart remains insensible and cold ; — dead, as the Bible terribly expresses it, — dead in trespasses and sins. This coldness and insensibility of the heart toward God leads to all sorts of sinfulness in conduct. It takes off restraint, gives up the soul to unholy feelings, increases the power of temptation, and thus leaves the soul the habitual slave of sin. These overt acts are the effects, not the cause, and he who hopes to be morally renewed 120 THE CORXER-STOXE. The real difficulty. Spiritual blindness. The ungrateful child. must not look directly and mainly to his moral conduct, and endeavor to rectify that ; hut he must look deeper ; he must examine his heart, and expect no real success which does not proceed from the warmth of spiritual life springing up there. I presume that a large portion of the readers of this chap- ter, will be persons who feel, in some degree, the value and the necessity of piety, and they are. perhaps, actually reading this book with a vague sort of wish to meet with something in it which can help them to find salvation. The bcok can do this only by showing you the real difficulty ; — which is, that you do not sincerely wish for salvation. " Ccfsc, to do evil, ask forgiveness in the name of Christ for the evil that you have done, and henceforth openly serve Gcd." These are certainly directions which it is easy for you to under- stand, and easy to practice. The difficulty is, a heart which will not comply. There is a moral obligation to comply, which the understanding admits, but which the heart does not feel ; and a moral beauty in complying which it does not perceive. This is spiritual blindness. And yet, simple as it seems, a large portion, even of those who call themselves religious inquirers, have very little conception of what spiritual blind- ness is. It is insensibility to spiritual things, a dullness of moral perception, such that sin, though it is intellectually perceived, makes no impression, and holiness, though the word is understood, awakens no feeling of its excellence and beauty in the heart. I can best illustrate it by a simple case, such as parents often have occasion to observe. A noisy boy, three or four years old, was once running about the house, disturbing very much, by his rattling play- things and his loud outcries, a sick mother, in a chamber above stairs. I called him to me, and something like the following dialogue ensued. ^ * As the reader proceeds through the dialogue, vre wish he -would recollect that the case is not brought forward to illustrate the general HUMAN NATURE. 121 The dialogue. Ingratitude. " Where is your mother ?" " She is sick up stairs." " Is she ? I am sorry that she is sick." A pause. " Were you ever sick ?" "Yes. I was sick once," said he, and he began to rattle his little feet upon the chair, and to move about in a restless manner, as if he wished to get down. " Oh, you must sit still a moment," said I, "I want to talk with you a little more. When were you sick ?" " Oh, I don't know." " What did your mother do for you, when you were sick ?" " Oh, she rocked me in the cradle." " Did she ? — did she rock you ? I am glad she was so kind. I suppose you liked to be rocked. Did she give you any thing to drink ?" "Yes, sir." " Did she make any noise to trouble you ?" "No, sir, she did not make any noise." " Well, she was very kind to you. I think you ought to be kind to her, now that she is sick. You can not rock her in the cradle, because she is too old to be rocked, but you can be gentle and still, and that she will like very much." " Oh but," said the boy in a tone of confidence, as if what he was saying was perfectly conclusive and satisfactory, " I want to ride my horse a little more." So saying, he struggled to get free, that he might resume his noisy sport. Probably nearly all the parents who read this dialogue, will remember, as they read it, many similar character of children. That is not our present subject. The story is told merely to illustrate the nature of blindness to spiritual things ; and though true, it would have answered our purpose just as well, if it had been entirely imaginary. Children generally, or at least often, have a very keen sensibility to the guilt of ingratitude. F 122 THE CORNER-STONE. Moral insensibility. Spiritual blindness. The horse and his rider. attempts which they have made, to lead a little child to perceive the moral beauty of gratitude, and to yield their hearts to its influence. But the child will not see or feel. It understands the terms ; — it remembers its own sickness and its mother's kindness ; — it knows that its mother is now sick, and that its noisy plays produce inconvenience and suffering ; but every attempt to lead it to look at all these things in connection, and to perceive and feel its own in- gratitude, are vain. It has no perception of it, no sensibility to it. " I want to ride my horse a little more," is the idea that fills its whole soul ; and duty, gratitude, obligation, are unfelt and unseen. It is thus with you, my irreligious reader. Your heart has no spiritual perception of the guilt of ingratitude toward God, and the moral beauty and excellence of obedience to his law. You can look at the law, at G-od's character, at your own sins, at all the declarations of the Bible, but you do not feel their moral weight. The carnal, that is, the worldly mind, does not know them, because they are spiritually discerned. Objects of natural beauty may be seen in the same man- ner, and yet not appreciated. A traveler on horseback emerges from the wood, on the declivity of a mountain, and there suddenly bursts upon his view, a widely extended prospect of fertile valleys, and winding streams, and fields waving with corn, farmhouses and smiling villages, giving life to the scene. He stops to gaze at it with delight. His horse looks at it too, and sees it all as distinctly as his rider does. The fields look as green, and the groves as shady, and the streams glisten with as bright a reflection to one as to the other. But while the man gazes upon it with emotions of delight, the animal looks idly on, pleased with nothing but his moment's rest. All that is visible comes equally to both ; but beauty is felt, not seen. Though the eye may bring in those combinations of form and color, which HUMAN NATURE. 123 Insensibility. Spiritual perception. THE PROSPECT. are calculated to awaken the emotion, there must be a heart to feel, within, — or all will be mere vision ; — cold, lifeless, stupid vision. It is so with spiritual perception. You, my reader, may understand the gospel most thoroughly, — you may have studied the Bible with diligence and care, and may see clearly and distinctly all its truths ; but there is a moral and spiritual meaning and power in them, to which the heart, while it remains worldly, remains utterly insensible. It does not see, it does not feel them. I know of nothing which more forcibly illustrates the cold insensibility of men to all that relates to God and holiness, and the salvation of the soul, than the trains of reflection which the unsanctified heart falls into, in its languid efforts to bring itself under religious influence. Let us take one 124 THE CORNER-STONE. The common case. Scene at evening. Feelings. The soliloquy. case as a specimen of tens of thousands. The subject is a moral, upright young man, with an honest respect for re- ligion, and a distinct understanding of its truths. He has been taught his duty from early infancy, and has at length left his father's roof to come out into the world ; and as he has not espoused his Savior's cause, his conscience keeps up a perpetual murmur, which makes him restless and dissatis- fied and destroys his peace. He has all the time a resolution carefully laid up in his mind that he will become a Chris- tian before long. This makes him feel as though he were keeping salvation within his reach, and helps a little to quiet conscience. He has lately resumed the habit which he was early taught to establish, of reading a portion of Scripture before he retires to rest. This duty he generally performs, though in a cold and heartless manner, so that it does not in the least interfere with his leading, day after day, a life of irreligion and sin. In fact he would be ashamed to have it known that he reads the Bible every day. He has just finished his chapter, and is sitting in his armed chair before the dying embers of his evening fire. He is alone, and it is near midnight. He walks to the window and looks for a few moments into the clear, cold sky, and a slight emotion swells in his heart as he thinks of the bound- less distance and inconceivable magnitude of the stars that he sees there. The feeling is mingled with a sort of poetic wish that he had a friend in the mighty Maker of them. He soon gets into a contemplative mood, and sits down again in his armed chair before the fire, where a train of thought something like the following passes in his mind. I insert it, not for its dignity, or its good taste, but because it is true to human nature. THE THOUGHTFUL SINNER'S SOLILOQUY. " Oh, I do wish I was a Christian. I must attend to the HUMAN NATURE. 12t Wandering thoughts. Reveries. The confession. subject. I am now twenty-five, and half mankind do not live to be fifty, so that probably I am more than half through life. — I should like to know exactly what my chance of life is. They say insurance companies can tell exactly ; — won- der how they calculate. — " But I wish I was a Christian. I do not know how to repent. I will confess all my sins now, and try to feel peni- tence for them. I will begin back in infancy. That lie that I told to my father about the book. Charles Williams sat on the same seat with me then. — Wonder where he is now." Here he gets into a reverie, about home and scenes of childhood ; presently he rises up and sighs, and begins to walk back and forth across the floor. " Oh ! how hard it is to confine my thoughts. Strange ; — going to judgment, — all my sins recorded, — coming up against me, and I have no heart to repent of them. Can see them, but can't feel. — Mr. W.'s sermon was not very clear. I do not understand how the judgment will be ar- ranged. Take a great deal of time. — Bible says Christ will judge the world. " But I must become a Christian. — And yet if I should, I must make a profession of religion. — Yery public. — What would they all say ? ." Here he stops to look out of the window, and seems lost, for a few moments, in vacancy. " Wonder who is sick in that house ; — bright light. How should I feel if I were taken sick to-night, and knew I was going to die ? — The time will come. " But my sins. — Let me see ; — I disobeyed my father and mother a great many times ; I used to take their things without leave, too. — Stealing, that ? — no, — not stealing, ex- actly. Why not ? Let me see. " He speculates a few minutes on this question of casuistry, 126 THE COE.NER-STONE. The cold, formal prayer. and then sighs deeply as he finds his thoughts wandering again, and makes another desperate effort to bring them back. " Oh ! how I wish I could really feel my sins. I will pray to God to forgive them, and then go to bed ; I will sit down in my armed chair and pray. " Oh God, look down in mercy, and forgive all my sins. I confess I have been a great sinner 1 have, 1 am a great sinner, — I, (musing) — I that's a beautiful blue flame ; — — some chemical substance in the coals, — azure (musing) O my God, forgive me, and enable me to repent of all my sins ; — beautiful ; — what a singular thing flame is, — distinct shape, but no substance. " ! how my thoughts will wander. I wish I could con- fine them. What shall I do ? I will go to bed ; and pray there; posture is of no consequence." He lies down and begins again to call for forgiveness, but very soon loses himself in a dreamy reverie, which terminates in a few moments, in sleep. As I have been writing the above, I have been on the point, again and again, of drawing my pen over the whole, as a wrong species of composition to introduce into such a work as this. But it tells the truth. Many of my readers will see their own faces reflected in it ; for as in water, face answereth to face, so the heart of man to man. And it shows the real difficulty in the way of salvation, — a heart cold, insensible, and callous ; unbelief almost entirely darken- ing the soul, and pride destroying the effect of the little light which gains admission. The difficulty seems hopeless, too : that is, so far as human means will go toward removing it. Every thing fails. In the hands of the Spirit of God, as we shall hereafter show, every thing does indeed, at times, succeed ; but in its ordi- HUMAN NATURE. 127 Effect of sickness and suffering. The sick man. A visit. nary operation, every means and every influence which can be brought to bear upon the human heart, fails of awaken- ing it. You can not possibly have a stronger case to present to men, than the claims of God's law, and you can not have a case in which argument, and eloquence, and instruction, and persuasion, if left to themselves, will be more utterly useless and vain. It is a common opinion among men, who are aware that all this is true in regard to their own hearts, that the coldness and insensibility which they feel will be dispelled by some future providence of God. They think that affliction will soften them, or sickness break the ties of earth, or approaching death arouse them to vigorous effort to flee from the wrath to come. But alas, there is little hope here. Affliction does good to the friends of God, but it imbitters and hardens his enemies. Sickness stupifies, and pain dis- tracts ; and approaching death, though it may alarm and terrify the soul which is unprepared for it, seldom melts the heart to penitence and love. I will describe a case, — it is a specimen of examples so numerous, that every village and neighborhood in our land might appropriate it, and every clergyman who reads it, might almost suppose that I took it from his own journal. A few years since, when spending a Sabbath in a beauti- ful country town, I was sent for to visit a sick man who was apparently drawing near the grave. I was told, as I walked with the neighbor who came for me, toward the house of the patient, that he was in a melancholy state of mind. " He has been," said he, "a firm believer and supporter of the truths of religion, for many years. He has been very much interested in maintaining religious worship, and all be- nevolent institutions ; he has loved the Sabbath School, and given his family every religious privilege. But he says that he has never really given his heart to God. He has been 128 THE CORNER-STONE. Conversation by the way. The unfeeling heart. Consumption. devoted to the world, and even now, he says, it will not re- linquish its hold." "Do you think," said I, " that he must die ?" " Yes," replied he, " he must die, and he is fully aware of it. He says that he can see his guilt and danger, but that his hard heart will not/eeZ." This is the exact remark which is made in thousands and thousands of similar cases, and in almost precisely the same language. The eyes are opened, but the heart remains unchanged. We at laigtli approached the house. It was in the midst of a delightful village, and in one of those calm, still, sum- mer afternoon?, when all nature seems to speak from every tree, and leaf, and flower, of the goodness of God, and to breathe the spirit of repose and peace. I wondered that a man could lie on his bed, with windows all around him opening upon such a scene as this, and yet not feel. As I entered the sick-room, the pale and emaciated patient turned toward me an anxious and agitated look, which showed too plainly what was passing within. It was a case of consumption. His sickness had been long and lingering, as if by the gradual manner in which he had been drawn away from life, God had been endeavoring to test by experi- ment, the power of approaching death to draw the heart to- ward him. His strength was now almost gone, and he lay gasping for the breath which his wasted lungs could not re- ceive. His eye moved with a quick and anxious glance around the room, saying, by its expression of bright intelli- gence, that the mind retained undimmished power. I endeavored to bring to his case those truths which I thought calculated to influence him, and lead him to the Sa- vior ; but he knew before, all that I could tell him ; and I learned from his replies, given in panting whispers, that re- ligious truth had been trying its whole strength upon him alJ HUMAN NATURE. 129 Hopeless condition. his life, and that in presenting it to him again now, I was only attempting once more, an experiment, which had "been repeated in vain, almost every day for forty years. I saw the utter hopelessness of effort, and stood by his bedside in silent despair. He died that night. My reader, if your heart is cold and hard toward God, abandon all hope that the alarm and anxiety of a death- bed will change it. Seek moral renewal and forgiveness now. 130 THE COE,NER-STONE, Character of the Deity. Efficiency in government. CHAPTER V. PUNISHMENT, OR THE CONSEQUENCES OF HUMAN GUILT. " He will miserably destroy those wicked men." There are perhaps one thousand millions of men upon the earth at this time, of which probably nine hundred and ninety-nine millions entertain the feelings toward God which are described in the last chapter, and act accordingly. The question at once arises, what will God do with them. The reader will perhaps recollect, that in the first chaptei of this work, when considering the character of the Deity, we found that one of its most prominent traits, is deter- mined decision in the execution of law. This is a trait which shows itself as conspicuously in all nature around us, as it does in the declarations of the Bible ; but one which unfortunately is not very favorably regarded hi this world. Efficiency in government is approved or disapproved, accord- ing to the character of the individual who judges it. An ef- ficient administration secures protection and happiness to the good, but to the bad it brings suffering, and perhaps destruc- tion. It is natural, therefore, that the latter should be very slow to praise the justice which they fear ; and in this world the proportion is so large of those that God's efficiency as a moral Governor will bear very heavily upon, that the whole subject is exceedingly unpopular among mankind. It is curious to observe how men's estimates of the same conduct vary according to the way in which they are them- PUNISHMENT. 131 Different estimates of it. The forgery. Severe punishment. selves to be affected by it ; for nothing is more admired and applauded among men, than efficiency in the execution of law, in all cases where they are themselves safe from its penalties. There have been, it is true, great disputes in re- spect to the bounds which ought to be assigned to political governments, or, in other words, to the degree of power which the magistrate ought to possess. But within these bounds, — in the exercise of this power, — every body admires and praises firmness, energy, and inflexible decision. Nobody objects to these qualities, except the criminal who has to suffer for the safety of the rest. He always protests against them. About fifty years ago an English clergyman of elevated rank and connections, and of high literary reputation, com- mitted forgery. The law of England declares that the forger must die. Now England is a highly commercial country, and all the transactions of business there connected with the employment, and the sustenance, and the property of millions and millions, entirely depend upon confidence in the truth of a written signature. Destroy the general confi- dence in the identity of a man's handwriting in signing his name, and all the business of the island would be embar- rassed or stopped, and universal confusion, distress, and ruin would follow in a day. The man, therefore, who counter- feits a signature in such a country, points his dagger at the very vital organs of society. The law of England does right, therefore, in affixing a very severe penalty to the crime of forgery, not for the purpose of revenging itself on the hapless criminal, but for the sake of protecting that vast amount of property, and those millions of lives, which are dependent upon the general confidence in the writing of a name. It is a sad thing for a clergyman of refined and cultivated mind, to pass through the scenes which such a law prepared for him. Consternation, when de- tected ; long hours of torturing suspense, before his trial ; in- 132 THE CORNER-STONE. Necessity for it. Alternative. describable suffering when, on being brought to the bar, he sees the proof brought out, step by step, clearly against him, and witnesses the unavailing efforts of his counsel to make good his defense ; and the sinking of spirit, like death itself, while the judge pro- nounces the sentence which seals his awful fate. Then he is re- manded to prison, to spend some days or weeks in uninterrupt- ed and indescribable agony, until his facul- ties become bewildered and overpowered by the influence of hor- ror and despair; and he walks out at last, pale, trembling, and haggard, to finish his earthly sufferings by the convulsive struggles of death. Sad consequences these, we admit, although they come only upon one ; — and all for just affixing another man's name to a piece of paper, without any intention of defrauding any body ! For it is highly probable that in this case, as in many similar ones, the criminal meant, in mercantile language, to have ^aken up the paper before it fell due. In fact, he must have designed this, for this would be the only way to escape certain detection. Awful results, we admit, for a sin so quickly, and so thought- lessly committed ; but not so sad as it would be to let the example go on, — until the frequency of forgery should destroy all mutual confidence between man and man, and business be stopped, and millions of families be reduced to beggary. THE FOKGER. PUNISHMENT. 133 Consequences of yielding to crime. Public sentiment. Petitions. Better that here and there a violator of the law should suffer its penalties, than that the foundations of society should be sapped, and the whole structure tumble into ruin. The question, therefore, for the government of that island, was simply this : will you be firm, notwithstanding individual suffering, in executing the law, or will you yield, and take the consequences ? If you yield, you open the flood-gates of crime and suffering upon the country ; and there will be no place to stop, if you once give way to crime, till the land be- comes one wide-spread scene of desolation, — famine raging in every hamlet, — banditti lurking in the valleys or riding in troops upon the highways, — and wretched mothers with their starving babes, roaming through the streets of desolated Lon- don, in a fruitless search for food. That was the question ; and the energetic government of the country understood it so. The unhappy criminal gave every indication of penitence. He was universally believed to be truly penitent then, and is universally believed to have been so now. All England, too, with one voice, sent in earnest petitions for his pardon. But it was in vain. The British ministry understood their duty better, and though it was perhaps as painful a duty as a government ever had to discharge, they were firm and un- yielding to the last. They gave the wretched criminal nei- ther pardon nor reprieve ; and though they would probably have submitted to almost any personal suffering, to save him, they were compelled to leave him to drink to the full, the bitter consequences of his sin. There were thousands and thousands of petitioners in his favor who were led to ask for a pardon, overcome by com- passion for the man. The tide of popular feeling was alto- gether against the government then, for men generally are weak-minded, inefficient, yielding, when the performance of duty is painful. But since the time has gone by, and the momentary weakness of the occasion has passed away, there .134 ' THE CORNER-STONE. Public sentiment now. Impartiality. Opinions influenced by character. has been as strong a tide of public approbation in their favor. In fact this so conspicuous and so terrible a case of sin and suffering', has made a permanent impression, not only upon England, but upon the whole civilized world. Evefy man feels it. He may not trace back the feeling to its origin, but it is undoubtedly, in a very great degree owing to this and precisely similar transactions, that that distinct and almost indelible impression has been made upon the community, and is handed down from generation to generation, which connects in every mind, such strong and mysterious associa- tions of sacredness with the signature of the written name. From that day to this every writer who has commented upon the transaction, while he has many expressions of sympathy for the suffering of the criminal, has a far more emphatic tribute of praise for the inflexible firmness and decision which refused to relieve it. We are, in a great measure, incapacitated from regarding some transactions, analogous to this, in a correct manner, on account of their coming too near to ourselves ; but this one can be understood ; its moral bearings and relations are seen as they are, without distortion ; and the simple fact which enables us to take the view of this subject which truth and justice present, is this, — we have not committed forgery our- selves. Suppose there had been in the prison where this unhappy criminal was confined, a room full of other forgers, and their opinion had been asked about the justice or the necessity of condemning him. Could they be made to under- stand it ? No ; they would be vociferous in their outcries at the unjust severity of inflicting such protracted and terri- ble suffering for so little a sin. We however can understand it, for we are impartial observers. We have not committed the crime, and we consequently have nothing to fear from sustaining the law. We rather see the value of an efficient administration of justice, in the protection which it affords PUNISHMENT. 135 Points illustrated. Time spent in sin. " Fifteen seconds. to our rights, and in the addition it makes to our happiness. I have accordingly taken this case to present to my readers, to illustrate four or five points, which we can see more plain- ly than when we look at them directly in the government of God. As I enumerate the points which such a case illus- trates, let the reader listen to the voice of reason and con- science within, and he will find that it testifies in their favor. 1. The time spent in committing the sin, has nothing to do with the just duration of the punishment of it. It took Dr. Dodd fifteen seconds, to write Lord Chesterfield's name. He suffered indescrihahle agony for many months, and was then blotted from existence for it. He would have lived perhaps forty years. So that here, for a sin of fifteen sec- onds, justice took forty years in penalty. She took more ; foi he would have been glad to have exchanged death for forty years of exile and suffering. In fact he petitioned for such a commutation. Some one may say that I fix too small a time for the com- mission of the sin ; — that he spent many hours and perhaps days in devising his plans, and practicing his counterfeit signature, and getting his bond drawn ; and that his guilt was extended over all this period. His guilt might have been indeed thus extended, but it must be remembered that he was not punished for guilt. He was punished for crime. If the last fatal act had not been performed, he would not hava committed any offense against human law. God might have punished him, but man would not ; — so that, strictly and fairly, the fifteen seconds spent in delineating the letters of his pupil's name, was the whole. For a sin of fifteen seconds, then, there followed a penalty worse than a suffer- ing for forty years ; and mankind have, by common consent, from that day to this, pronounced the punishment just. 2. Desert of punishment does not depend upon intention 136 THE CORNER-STONE. Bad intentions. Immediate consequences. Inconsiderateness. to do injury. The forger, in this case, had not the least intention of doing injury. He could not have had such an intention, for Lord Chesterfield could not have been called upon to pay the bond without causing instant detection. This fact however was no reason why he should go free. The question was not what injury he intended to commit, hut what injury really would follow, if his crime should go unpunished. 3. Desert of punishment does not depend upon the imme- diate consequences of the sin. The evil of sin consists not in the direct injury of the single transgression, hut in the ruinous effects resulting to the community, when it is •allow- ed to go unpunished. The only direct injury which could have resulted from the crime in question, was the loss of four thousand pounds by one individual. Fifty times that sum might probably have been raised to save the unhappy crimi- nal's life, but it would have been unavailing. He was executed, not for putting to hazard the four thousand pounds, but for endangering the vital interests of an immense com- munity. The four thousand pounds has nothing to do with the case. It would have been the same if it had been forty pounds. The sin was the forgery, not the endangering of four thousand pounds. Men are always disposed to estimate their guilt by the time employed in committing the sin, or by the direct conse- quences resulting from it ; and fancy that they deserve but little punishment, because they think that their transgres- sions have occupied but little time, and can of themselves do no great, immediate injury. 4. Desert of punishment does not depend upon the degree of distinctness with which the consequences are foreseen. The criminal here had no idea that he was involving himself in such dreadful difficulty ; but this inconsideration was no admissible plea. Hearts in this world which give themselves up to sin, are PUNISHMENT. 137 Object of punishment. Not revenge. unconcerned about its guilt, and have no idea of the awful consequences which are to ensue ; "but this will not, can not, alter those consequences. 5. The object of punishment is not revenge against the individual. No one felt any sentiment of revenge against he forger in the case of which we are speaking. There was one common and universal desire to save him, — and that in the very community which alone could suffer injury from his crime. The government would most gladly have pardoned him, if they could have done it safely. No one wished that he should suffer. The only reason for insisting upon it was, that the suffering of the criminal in such a case can alone arrest the consequences of the sin. In many and many an instance has the chief magistrate of a state had the strength of his moral principle tried to the utmost by the importunities of a whole community, and more than all the rest, of the wretched wife and children of the criminal. A weak man, in such a case, will yield. His desire to save individual suffering, will induce him to take a step which will hazard all that society holds most dear. Instead of any feelings of resentment against the individual to urge him on, there is a deep emotion of compassion for him, to keep him back ; so that if he is firm and does his duty, it must be because moral principle carries him forward, against the strong tide of feeling with which his heart pleads for the life of a fellow-creature. It is so in the government of Jehovah. If any of us should be so happy, as, after finishing our pilgrimage in this vale of tears, to be admitted to our happy home in the skies, God will assuredly protect us forever from the sins and the sinners which have brought so much misery here. He will be firm and unyielding, in the execution of his law ; but he will pity the sufferings which he must not relieve. He takes no pleasure in the death of the wicked. THE CORNER-STONE. Moral impression. The petition. Satisfying justice. 6. The object of punishment on the other hand, is, a moral impression upon the community, designed to arrest the ruinous consequences of sin. We have seen under the last head, that it is not resentment against the individual which demands the punishment. The forger knew it was not, in his case, resentment that stood in the way of his pardon ; and in his petition for pardon he said nothing with the view of allaying any personal hostility felt against him, hut only endeavored to show how the necessary moral impression might he made without his death. The following paragraph from a petition which, he offered to the king, shows this. " I confess the crime, and own the enormity of its con- sequences, and the danger of its example. Nor have I the confidence to petition for impunity ; hut humbly hope, that public security may be established, without the spectacle of a clergyman dragged through the streets to a death of infamy, amidst the derision of the profligate and profane ; and that justice may be satisfied with irrevocable exile, per- petual disgrace, and hopeless penury." It is evident from this, what object the petitioner sup- posed it to be, which required his death. And in all his efforts to avoid death, his plan was to show that the proper moral impression might be made on the community without it, so as, in his own words, " to establish the public security'' — u to satisfy justice/' expressions which are almost pre- cisely those used by religious writers in describing God's design in punishing sin, and which are spurned by the dis- believers in a judgment to come, as expressions having no meaning, or else signifying something unjust or absurd. " To satisfy justice/' — a metaphorical expression certainly, but one which any man can understand if he will. The great English philologist, for it was Dr. Johnson who penned PUNISHMENT. 139 Salvation by Christ. Penitence. Its power in averting punishment. this petition for the unhappy criminal, will hardly be charged with using under such circumstances, unmeaning, or unintel- ligible language. If the man had been pardoned, a violence would have been done to the sense of justice which reigns in every man's bosom, that would have worked incalculable injury. It would have undermined the authority of law, and brought down the standard of moral obligation ; and every man would have felt, as soon as the excitement of the occa- sion was past, that the firm foundations of commercial con- fidence throughout the empire had been rendered insecure. The object then, in endeavoring to procure the pardon of this criminal, was to devise some way to prevent these evils, without his death ; — some way to satisfy justice, and sus- tain law, and make a moral impression which the govern- ment well knew would be made by the destruction of the man. No such way could be found, and the poor criminal was compelled to submit to his fate. What this poor sufferer's learned and eloquent advocate failed to find, for him, Jesus Christ our Savior succeeded in finding for us ; — a way by which to satisfy justice, and sus- tain law, and make a moral impression which should arrest the sad consequences of guilt, and render it safe that we should be forgiven. We shall consider this however more fully in the sequel. 7. The necessity of punishment is not diminished by the penitence of the sinner. All mankind know and admit this, excepting in their own case. There, they always have an undefined but fixed impression that penitence settles the whole difficulty. There is perhaps as good evidence that this forger was penitent as there can be, in such a case ; but penitence, however deep and however sincere, could have no power to arrest the consequences which the community must suffer from unpunished crime. If the gratification of per- sonal resentment against the criminal had been the reason 140 THE CORNEE.-STONE. It makes pardon desirable. Application of principles. for insisting on the penalty of violated law, then repentance would have been a valid plea, as it would have removed all personal resentment, and turned human sympathy in his favor. Repentance always increases the desire to forgive, but it never of itself opens the way. That is the distinction I repeat it ; it does a great deal toward making pardon desirable ; but alone, it does nothing toward making it safe. That is, it does nothing toward making that impression on the community which the connection of crime with suffering always makes, and which is necessary in order to arrest the ruinous consequences of sin. If, then, the question of pardon came up at all in the British cabinet, the stronger the evidence was that the criminal was penitent for his sin, the more painful would the duty of insisting on justice be ; but the necessity of performing the duty would remain un- changed. Yie have taken this case because it is well known, and because the common sense of mankind, from that day to this, has pronounced but one decision upon it. The in- ferences which we have drawn out from it, might be almost equally well illustrated by any case of sin and punishment which takes place in any government, parental or political. These truths are so plain, that no man can or will deny them, excepting in his own case, or in some case which comes so near to him as to bias his feelings. They are the principles by which the Bible declares that Jehovah will be guided in the administration of his govern- ment. The punishment due to transgression will not be regulated by* the briefness of the time spent in the com- mission of the siii ; — it will not be measured by the small- ness of the immediate injury ; — the sinner may have had no intention to invade the peace and happiness of God's great family ; — he may have been entirely unaware of the consequences which were to follow : — he may be over- PUNISHMENT. 141 Nature and effects of sin. Cock-fighting. whelmed with consternation and sorrow when he finds what the bitter fruits must be ; — he may offer reparation a hundred-fold ; — but all in vain. Even repentance, sin- cere and humble repentance, will be insufficient to save him. For it is not personal resentment against the indi- dual, nor desire to repair the immediate injury effected by the specific sin, which leads to the infliction of the penalty. If it were, repentance would remove the one, and a comparatively slight effort, effect the other. But it is not these. It is that sin, that evil and bitter thing, wherever it comes, blights and destroys. Just so far as it gains admis- sion into God's dominions, peace and happiness fly, — harmony is broken up, — man hates and oppresses his fellow-man, and all conspire against God. We feel not its miseries and its horrors because we have become hardened to them, . and the heart is stupid and insensible to guilt in which it is itself involved. Men see and understand guilt in a degree, sometimes, when it starts upon them in some new and unexpected form, while they are entirely blind to far greater enormities which they have themselves assisted to make common. A whole town was once shocked by the disclosure of a scene of vice and cruelty, which was to the mass of the inhabitants, a new and unusual form of sin. It was cock-fighting. Cruel, un- relenting wretches prepared their victims for the contest, by sawing off their natural spurs, and fastening deadlier ones of steel upon the bleeding trunks. Then, having forced the in- nocent animals to a quarrel, by thrusting each against the other till they provoked them to anger, they sat around to enjoy the spectacle of their combat. The whole community was shocked by it, for this was sin in a new and unexpected form, and one in which they had not themselves personally partaken. But when the same experiment, precisely, is tried with men, the world looks on calmly and unmoved. Mili- 142 THE CORNER-STONE. War. Human insensibility to sin. Threatened destruction. tary leaders bring human beings together by thousands, men who have no quarrel, and would gladly live in peace. They drive them up together front to front, and having armed them with weapons of torture and death, which nature never fur- nished, they succeed, half by compulsion, and half by mali- cious art, in getting the first blows struck, and the first blood flowing, as a means of bringing the angry passions of the combatants into play. This they call getting the men en- gaged ! There is no trouble after this. The work goes on ; — a work of unutterable horror. The blood, the agony, the thirst, the groans which follow, are nothing. It is the raging fires of hatred, anger, revenge, and furious passion, which nerve every arm, and boil in every heart, and with which thousands upon thousands pour in crowds into the presence of their Maker ; — these are what constitute the real horrors of a battle-field. And what do mankind say to this ? Why a few Christian moralists feebly remonstrate, but the great mass of men gather around the scene as near as they can get to it, by history and description, and admire the systematic arrangements of the battle, and watch the progress and the manoeuvers of the hostile armies, as they would the changes in a game of chess : — and were it not for the flying bullet, they would throng around the scene in person. But when it comes to sawing off the spurs of a game-cock, and exas- perating him against his fellow, — oh ! that is shocking cruelty : — that they can not bear ! We do not realize the nature, and the effects of any sin, when we have been long habituated to it, nor perceive that guilt in which we are personally involved. But this will not alter the case. God will cherish no personal resentment against sinners, and no wish to put them to suffering. But the awful consequences of sin among his creatures must be stopped : — and in order to stop it, the wretched souls who choose it for their portion must be destroyed. PUNISHMENT. 143 The alternative. Open unbelief. Indifference. Destroyed ? It is a strong expression, "but God has chosen it. We take it from his word, and we may not use a gentler one. " All the wicked will he destroy." " The Lord Jesus shall be revealed from heaven with his mighty angels, — in flaming fire, taking vengeance on them that know not God, and that obey not the Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ ; — who shall be punished with everlasting de- struction from the presence of the Lord, and from the glory of his power." Destruction ! It is a word in regard to which all com- ment is useless, and all argument vain. Perverted ingenuity might modify, and restrain even such expressions as eternal, and everlasting, but destruction, — it bids defiance to cavil- ing : it extinguishes hope. Everlasting destruction ! We are left to the single alternative of admitting the terrible truth, or positively refusing to take God's word. Of this alternative, men choose different sides. They who are determined to live in vice and sin, openly deny God's dec- nation. Reasoning with them is useless. Can you expect to find any words plainer than " everlasting destruction ?" No : the difficulty is with the heart. Till this is touched, demonstration is useless :— but then, when the conscience is awakened, and the heart feels, the difficulty is over : — doubts about the Judgment to come, vanish like the dew. This open contradiction of the word of God is, however, perhaps a smaller evil than the lurking, secret unbelief which reigns in almost every heart. The number who openly deny what God declares, in regard to the desert and the punish- ment of sin, is very small ; but the number of those who really, and from their hearts, believe it, is, very probably, smaller still. Between these two extremes lie the vast ma- jority of the human race, — asleep ; too faithless to believe, and too stupid and indifferent to take the trouble to deny. They do not reason aloud upon the subject, but there is a 144 THE CORNER-STONE. Mistaken views. The guilt of sinning against God. Case of the child. lurking feeling in their hearts that they have been sinners only for a little time ; they have, they think, no malicious intentions, no direct hatred of God ; their guilt is that of thoughtlessness and inadvertence, and the mischief is slight which immediately follows. Many a young person secretly reasons thus after spending years in decided and determined neglect of God. The plea which he puts in is just the same as if the forger had urged in his petition for pardon, that it took him only fifteen seconds to commit the crime, that he had no malicious intentions toward the community in com- mitting it, and that the sum which was hazarded, was only four thousand pounds. He can not, he infers, deserve death for this. He overlooks altogether the wide-spread evils that would desolate the whole community, should the work which he thus begins be allowed to go on. So the sinner, a child of ten years old, who has lived a comparatively amiable and harmless life, wonders what there can be in his life and character deserving of the terrific retri- bution which God has denounced upon him. I will tell yo# what it is, my child. It is not the length of the ten years, during which you have been living in sin. That is nothing. It is not the inconvenience and suffering that you have occa- sioned your parents. If you had been to them, during all this time, an unceasing source of pain and anxiety, it would be comparatively nothing. It is not the injury which you have often done to your playmates by your guilty passions ; if that injury had been ten times as frequent, and ten times as great as it has been, it would be comparatively nothing. It is not that you have directly opposed and hated God ; I admit that you have had no distinctly malicious intention toward him. It is not those things, therefore. What it is, however, is this, namely, that there is a great controversy going on, whether God shall reign or not among the beings he has made, when nothing but his reign can save them from uni- PUNISHMENT. 145 The spread of ein must be stopped. Sin overruled for good. The forgery versal disorder and misery, and from becoming the victims of every kind of guilt : and in this controversy you have taken the wrong side. It is a sad, a very sad thing, for a child like you to linger forever in guilt and misery, but it would be a far more melancholy thing for the rebellion against God, which has poisoned all the sources of happiness here, to spread throughout God's empire, withering and de- stroying wherever it comes. So that the charge against you is not based upon the injury which your individual sins have already produced ; but upon this, namely, that by deliberately rejecting God, you take the side of sin and misery; you do all in your power to bring off God's creatures from their al- legiance to him ; you place yourself exactly across the way over which the mighty wheels of Jehovah's government are coming, and the chariot can not be turned aside to save you, without destruction to the rest. But we must return once more to the forgery, for the sake of deducing one farther inference, and then we take our final leave of the illustration. 8. Sin may be overruled so as to result in good. I intro- duce this subject with great hesitation, for it opens one of those obscure and boundless fields of thought, which are not unfrequently presenting themselves before us in looking into the mighty government of God. Clouds and mists hang over it ; some objects are entirely concealed, and some we see but indistinctly, notwithstanding our most eager efforts to fix their forms. Now and then the shades and darkness break away a little, and we get a glimpse, far on in a per- spective of difficulty and doubt ; but before we have time to fix the knowledge which we have obtained, the clouds close in again, and all is once more darkness and gloom. The self-sufficient and shallow intellect, which never really thinks, but takes upon trust what its leaders tell it, or studies only to find proof of what it is determined, at all events, to believe, G 146 THE CORNER-STONE. Its beneficial effects. Moral impression. never experiences what I now mean ; but no man can lay aside authority, and shake off the fetters of every bias, and come, with a free, untrammeled mind, to look into the moral government of God, without being often confounded and lost in the sublime obscurities which continually gather round his way. I make these remarks because it is to such an obscure and darkened field that I point the reader now. Sin may be overruled for good. It is highly probable that the forgery which we have been considering, resulted in the most beneficial effects to the whole community affected by it. The sin and the penalty which followed, were most conspic- uously displayed. There was scarcely a man in the whole British empire who did not know these facts at the time of their occurrence, and who did not watch the progress of the efforts which were made to save the criminal. Every one knew that the administration cherished no malicious or resentful feelings against the sufferer ; and that if they re- fused to pardon him, it was only because the public safety, in their view, imperiously forbade it. Thus the attention of the whole community was called to the nature and conse- quences of this crime, and a moral impression was produced which must have been inconceivably beneficial in its effects. The case made men look with a feeling of respect, almost amounting to awe, upon the written signature ; — -and attach a sacredness to it, which, though it is nothing more than a mental impression, is probably one of the greatest safeguards to property which the institutions or customs of civilized life afford. We do not mean that this instance has been the sole promoter of this feeling; but that instances like this have produced it ; and this has been efficient above all others, just in proportion as it has been conspicuous beyond the rest. The effect of the moral impression produced by this forgery and it? punishment, was not confined to the particular class TUNISIIMENT. 147 Good often done by the commission and the punishment of sin. of offenses which it brought more directly to view. It sus- tained the general authority of law. It. spoke, in a voice which could not he misunderstood, of the nature of guilt, and the ground and the necessity of punishment; and it sent forth a warning to every village and neighborhood in the land, — a warning which has been remembered to this day. The transaction has, in fact, been appealed to continually, from that time to this, in proof of the incorruptible majesty of British law. So true is this, that if an English statesman at the time, had regarded only the effect of the transaction upon the community, he would not have regretted its occurrence. If he could have overlooked the misery of the poor criminal, he would even have rejoiced at it, as a transaction destined to result in immense public benefit. In fact it has undoubtedly often happened that a government has actually rejoiced in the commission of an individual crime which could be made, by exemplary punishment, the means of producing a moral impression which would save the community from some general threatening danger. Yes ; where the circumstances of the offense have been favorable for this purpose, they have actually rejoiced at it. They have rejoiced, too, not merely that the criminal was detected, but that the crime was com- mitted, — as it gave them the opportunity to arrest far greater evils than the suffering of the offender. The most humane and benevolent magistrate, and even the teacher of a school or the father of a family, will often find cases, where the moral effects produced upon the community under his care, by some offense and its consequences, have been so beneficial that he can hardly regret the occurrence. We may go even farther than this. If it had come within the power of a statesman to do it, and if he had looked only at the general good, and not at the sufferings of the individual, he could not have adopted a wiser measure, to strengthen general conn 148 THE CORNER-STONE. Difficulty. Divine power over the human heart. The traveler. dence in the authentication of a document by a written name, than by actually producing such a conspicuous case of forgery, and inflicting its punishment. Of course, to do this is entirely beyond the limits of human power ; and the mind shrinks back baffled and bewildered from the vain attempt to understand the degree of power which God can exercise in respect to the moral agency of the beings he has formed. Does any thing depend upon contingencies which he can not control ? If not, then it would seem that there is not any thing, not even transgression, which is not a part of his design. The origin of sin, and the reasons why it is permitted, if he only permits it, or ordained, if we consider him in all things absolute and supreme, is a subject in which the human faculties are confounded and lost. It opens be- fore us one of those vistas of dread uncertainty and doubt, which we have already described. Shall we assign any limits to the sovereignty of Almighty God, in regard to the moral conduct of his creatures ? Conflicting feelings declare that we must, and that we must not ; and reason stands overwhelmed and confounded by the grandeur and the pro- foundness of the recesses, which she attempts, in vain, to explore. We are like the traveler, lost at midnight in the dark glens of the mountains, where frowning precipices hang over his head, and forests, in silence and solitude, stretch away before him. Mists float through the valleys, and heavy clouds hang over the summits of the mountains or move slowly along their sides. A momentary opening admits to his straining eyes a vista of grove and cliff and glen, which the moon, brightening for an instant, reveals to him; but before he has time to separate reality from shadow, or to gain one distinct impression, the heavy cloud rolls over him again, shuts out his light, cuts off his view, and leaves him bewil- dered and in darkness. It is so with many a region of reli- gious truth. The human mind, when it has fairly entered PUNISHMENT. 149 Spirit of controversy. God is to be feared. The Savior. it, is bewildered and lost in the mazy scene. Sometimes an opening in the clouds in which it is enveloped, gives a mo- mentary and partial glimpse of the objects around, and while the thoughts are eagerly reaching forward through the vista, almost thinking that every cloud is about to break away and disappear, thick shades and darkness come over it again. Hope revives for a moment, as the moonlight beam of reason feebly shines on some new object, in some new direction ; but it revives only to be again extinguished as before. Into this scene noisy controversy loves to enter, to dispute about what she can not see, and to profane the sublimity which she can not appreciate ; but intelligent and humble piety stands awed, submissive and silent, feeling her own helpless feeble- ness, and adoring the incomprehensible majesty of God. But to return ; " God is love," is one part of the inspired delineation of his character. " God is a consuming fire," is equally distinct, and it comes from equally high authority. There is, however, a common understanding among men that they will read and appreciate the former declaration, while the latter is almost wholly passed by. In fact, there is among many persons, and even sometimes among Chris- tians, a feeling that God must be considered and represented as a father only, not as a magistrate ; children must be taught to love him, not to fear him ; and those terrible de- nunciations which frown on every page of the Bible are kept out of view. It is even thought by many persons that there is a kind of harshness and inhumanity in representing God as he is, a God of terrible majesty, and in holding up distinctly and clearly to view the awful retributions which he threatens, with any design to deter men by fear, from breaking his laws. But Jesus Christ thought not so. "Fear him," says he, "who can destroy both soul and body in hell. Yea I say unto you, fear him." He never shrunk from bringing 150 THE COE.NER-STONE. Insensibility to God's threatened judgments. A form of unbelief. fully to view the undying worm, — the ceaseless torment, — the inextinguishable fire. We are too benevolent, say some to believe such things, or to teach such things. Then they are more benevolent than the Savior. He had love enough for men to tell them plainly the truth ; but these, it seems, have more. I do not speak here merely of those who openly deny the declarations of the Bible on this subject, but of a very large portion of the Christian church, who never trem- ble themselves, or teach their children to tremble, at the wrath to come. Many a Christian reader of the Bible passes over its pages, thinking that such truths are all for others, when in fact they are peculiarly needed by himself. He is a professor of religion, he thinks that his peace is made with God, and that consequently the terrors of a coming judgment are nothing to him. In the mean time, he leads a worldly life, — he does, day after day, what he knows to be wrong, — frustrating the grace of God, by making his vain hope of for- giveness the very opiate which lulls him into sin. As to threatened punishment, it passes by him like the idle wind. God is a father, he says ; his government is paternal ; and the language which proclaims his threatened judgments is eastern metaphor, or, if it has any serious meaning, it is in- tended for others, not for him. If, however, we look throughout the Bible for the subject which is presented with the greatest prominence and em- phasis there, the one which is pressed most directly, with reference to a strong and continual influence upon human minds, we shall find that it is the unshrinking and terrible decision, with which, under the government of God, sin will be punished ; and yet how very few there are, even in the most enlightened Christian community, and in the very bo- som of the church, who stand in any daily fear of the judg- ment to come. So settled and universal is this feeling, that some readers will perhaps be surprised at the idea, that fear PUNISHMENT. 151 Christians should be affected by it. Probation. Debt and credit. of God's judgments should have a place in the bosom of the church. " There is no fear in love," they will say ; " perfect love casteth out fear." So it does, but it must be perfect love ; and when a church has attained to this, — when sin is ban- ished from every soul, — and the world is finally abandoned, — and God reigns, in supreme, and unquestioned, and unin- terrupted sway, — and every heart is a temple of perfect purity and holiness, — then may its members cease to think of the danger of God's displeasure. Then ; but not till then. The great foundation of the almost universal unbelief which prevails, in respect to the consequences of sin, rests in the heart. Man is unwilling to believe what condemns and threatens himself. But while the origin is in the heart, the intellect assists in maintaining the delusion, and this chiefly through the mistake of considering moral obligation as of the nature of debt and credit, instead of regarding God's govern- ment as it really is, a system of probation. The meaning of probation is understood well enough in reference to this world. Young men are led to see that there are certain crises in their lives when immense, and irretrievable conse- quences depend upon the action of an hour. This is well known ; — the principle is interwoven into all the providential arrangements of life. Men do not complain of it ; they see practically its fitness. But when they come to look at the attitude in which they stand toward God, the idea of proba- tion gives way to that of debt and credit, — and they go to estimating their sins, — and to calculating the time that they have spent in committing them, and they bring on their off- sets of good deeds, — and then consider what amount of suffer- ing is necessary to close the account. In order to show how momentous are the consequences which often depend upon a very brief period of trial, let us take a very common case. A boy of twelve years old brought up by Christian parents in some quiet village, is sent at last 152 THE CORNER-STONE. The young man. Leaving home. to the metropolis, into a commercial establishment, where he is to commence the duties of active life. As his mother gives him her last charge, and with forced smiles, but with a bursting heart, bids him good-bye, he thinks he can not yield to' any temptation which can beset him. For many days, and perhaps weeks, he is strong. He is alone, though in a crowded city ; his heart, solitary and sad, roams back io his native hills, and recalls a thousand incidents of childhood ; conscience, foreseeing the struggles that are to come, is busy in his heart, retouching every faint and fading moral impres- sion which years gone by had made there. He looks upon the diseased and abandoned profligates around him with hor- ror, and shrinks instinctively back from the very idea of vice. Every night he reads a passage in the beautiful Bible which was packed by stealth in his trunk, with his father's and PUNISHMENT. 153 Allurements of sin. The crisis. The sore temptation and the struggle. mother's names upon the blank page ; and he prays God for strength and help to enable him to be faithful in duty, and grateful to them. In the course of a few weeks the world is somewhat changed to him. He does not love his parents and his early home the less, perhaps, but he thinks of new scenes and new employments a little more. He forms acquaintances and hears sentiments and language which he must, in heart, con- demn, though he does it more and more faintly at each suc- cessive repetition. He engages with his new comrades in plans of enjoyment which he feels are questionable. Either they are positively wrong, or else his previous notions have been too strict ; he can not exactly decide which, and he ac- cordingly tries them more and more, occasionally reasoning with himself in regard to their character, but coming to no absolute decision. He does not think of home so much as he did ; — somehow or other there are melancholy thoughts con nected with it,— and he finds it less easy and pleasant to write to his parents. He used to have a letter, well filled, always ready for any private opportunity which accident might furnish ; but now, he writes seldom, though he apol- ogizes very freely for his seeming neglect, and expects every week to have more time. At last, some Saturday afternoon, the proposal comes up among his companions, to go off on the morrow on a party of pleasure. It is not made directly to him, but it is in his hearing, and he knows that he is included in the plan, and must decide in favor of, or against it. A party of pleasure, — of innocent recreation, they call it. He knows it is a party of dissipation and vice, — and formed, too, for that sacred day which God commands him to keep holy. He says nothing, and from the silent and almost indifferent air which he assumes while they loudly and eagerly discuss the plan, you would suppose that he was an unconcerned spectator. But no ; 154 THE CORNER-STONE. Results depending. Consequences of a defeat. J$.<££& THE TEMPTATION. look at him more at- tentively. Is not his cheek a little pale ? Is there not a slight quiver upon his lip ? — and a slight tremor in his limbs, as he leans upon a chair, as if his strength were failing him a little? These external indications are very slight, but they are the indications of a sinking of the spirit within, as he feels that the moral forces are taking sides, and mar- shaling themselves in array for the struggle which must come on. Conscience does not speak ; — hut he knows, he feels, how she will speak, before this question is decided. Inclina- tions which are beginning to grow powerful by indulgence, do not yet draw, but he knows how they will draw ; and the blood falls back upon his heart, and strength fails from his limbs, as he foresees the contest. It seems as if the combat- ants were drawing up their forces in gloomy silence, waiting, by common consent, till the time shall arrive, and the signal be given, for their deadly struggle. The armistice continues, with slight interruptions, until he leaves his companions, and having closed the business of the day, walks toward his home. But there are within him the elements of war, and as soon as he retires to his solitary room, and the stimulus and excitement of external objects are re- moved, the contest is begun. I need not describe it ; I can have no reader who does not understand the bitterness of the PUNISHMENT. 156 Probation. Nature of it, struggle which ensues, when duty, and conscience, and the command of God, endeavor to maintain their stand against the onset of sore temptation. Human beings have occasion to know what this is, full well. Besides, it is not to the particular circumstances of the con- test in such a case that I wish to turn the attention of the reader, but to this fact : that very probably, on the event of this single struggle, the whole character and happiness of the young man for life depend. He may not see it so at the time, but it may be so notwithstanding. If duty gains the victory here, her next contest will be achieved more easily. There is a double advantage gained, for the strength of moral prin- ciple is increased, and the pressure of subsequent attacks upon it is diminished. The opposing forces which such a young man must encounter, in taking the right stand, are far more powerful than those which tend to drive him from it, when once it is taken. On the other hand, if he yields here, he yields probably forever. Conscience stands rebuked and silenced ; guilty passions become tumultuous for future grati- fication ; impure and unholy thoughts pollute his mind ; and though remorse may probably, for a long time to come, at intervals more and more distant, and in tones more and more faint, utter reproaches and warnings, he will, in all proba- bility, go rapidly down the broad road of vice and sin. All this is not fancy, but fact. It is the sober history of hundreds of young men, who go down every year to ruin, in precisely this way. They have their time of trial ; the time when they are put to the test ; a crisis, which, in many, many cases, is over in a few hours, but whose awful consequences extend through a life of misery, and are not stopped, even by the grave. Perhaps it may be supposed that all the miseries of a life of vice ought not to be charged upon the hour when the first 3tep was taken, but should be considered as the consequences 156 THE CORNER-STONE. Sin perpetuates itself. Its worst effects. Wandering from God. of the repeated acts of transgression which the individual goes on to commit. We have no objection to this at all, but it does not relieve the hour of the first transgression from any portion of its responsibility ; for this very disposition to go on in sin, is the direct result of the first transgression ; and it is the very worst result of it. If the first sin left the heart in a right state, the conscience tender, and guilty passions sub- dued ; and if nothing was to follow from it but simple suffer- ing, even if it were suffering for years, it would be compar- atively nothing. The greatest, the most terrible of all the evils which result from the first indulgence of sin, is, that it leads almost inevitably to a second and a third. The tyrant takes advantage of his momentary power to rivet his fetters, and to secure his victim in hopeless slavery. So that if a young man spends one night in sin, the great evil is not, that he must suffer the next day, but that he will go on sinning the next day. He brings heart, and conscience, and ungodly passions into such a relative condition that he will go on. There is not half as much to stop him, as there was to pre- vent his setting out, so that the first transgression has for its consequences, not only its own peculiar miseries, but all the succeeding steps in the declivity of sin, together with the attendant suffering, which, to the end of time, follow in their train. All this is true, though not universally, in respect to the vices and crimes of human life. I say not universally, for the wanderer does, sometimes of his own accord, stop and return. But it is true universally, and without exception, of the broad way of sin against God, from which the wan- derer, if he once enters it, will never, of his own accord, turn back. Take the first step here, and all is lost. The incli- nation to return never comes. The whole Bible teaches us, that sin once admitted, whether it be by a spotless spirit be- fore the throne of God, or by a tender infant here, establishes PUNISHMENT. 157 Can the sinner return? Will the sinner return? its fixed and perpetual reign. Can not the sinner return ? the reader perhaps may ask. Can not the fallen spirit or sinning man, give up his warfare and come hack to God ? Can not Dives, who neglected and disoheyed God when on earth, seek his forgiveness and his favor now ? "We have nothing to do with these questions ; the inquiry for us to make is, not whether they can, hut whether they will return. The Bible assures us that they will not ; but with mankind around us, and our own hearts open to our view, we scarcely need its testimony. Sin once admitted, the soul is ruined. It lies dead in trespasses and sins ; going farther and farther away from God, and sinking continually in guilt and misery. It may, indeed, while in this state, be clothed in the appear- ances of external virtue, but it will still remain hopelessly estranged from God, so deeply corrupted, and so wholly lost, that it can be restored to purity and holiness again, only by being created anew. Sin thus does more than entail misery, — it perpetuates itself. The worst of all its consequences, is, its own inevitable and eternal continuance. The question is very often asked, whether the punishment of sin in another world, will consist of suffering directly in- flicted, or only of the evils which naturally and inevitably flow from sin. The distinction between these two species of retribution is very clear in respect to human punishments, but it is lost at once, in a great measure, when we come to the government of God. It is impossible to draw the line between them, because whatever consequences follow from sin against God, they are so uniformly and indissolubly con- nected with the sin itself that they form a part of its nature. In fact, it is not enough to say that sin brings suffering, — it is suffering. Misery is, as it were, an essential property of it ; but whether rendered so by the decision of Jehovah, or by an original and absolute necessity in the very nature of 158 THE CORNER-STONE. God often employs suffering. Arrangements for it in the human frame. things, it is perhaps impossible for human powers to deter- mine. One thing is certain, however, that Jehovah does not shrink from the direct employment of suffering, whenever it is necessary to accomplish his purposes. It is a painful sub- ject, and one which, probably, a vast majority of readers would prefer to have passed by ; but no one can form any correct idea of his Maker's character, or know at all what he is to expect at his hands, without being fully acquainted with it. Take, for instance, the human frame. It is made for nealth and happiness, and when we look upon a countenance blooming with beauty, and observe its expression of quiet enjoyment, we feel that the being who formed it is a God of love. But we must not forget, that within that very bloom- ing cheek, there is contrived an apparatus capable of produ- cing something very different from enjoyment. A fibrous net- work spreads over it, coming out in one trunk from the brain, extending everywhere its slender ramifications, and sending a little thread to every point upon the surface. What is this mechanism for ? Its uses are many ; but among its other properties, there is in it a slumbering power, which may indeed never be called into action, but which always exists, and is always ready, whenever God shall call it forth, to be the instrument of irremediable and unutterable suffering. We admit that in almost every case, it remains harmless, and inoperative ; still it is there, always there, and always ready ; and it is called into action whenever God thinks best. And it is not merely in the cheek, but through- out every part of the frame that the apparatus of suffering lies concealed ; and it is an apparatus which is seldom out of order. Sickness deranges and weakens the other powers, but it seldom interferes with this ; it remains always at its post, in the eye, the ear, the brain, the hand, — in every organ and every limb, and always ready to do God's bidding, PUNISHMENT. 159 Uses of suffering. Jehovah is to be feared. Value of an efficient government. Nor is it useless ; — an idle preparation of instruments, never to be employed. It is called into action often, and with terrific power. God accomplishes a great many of his most important purposes by it. These purposes it is not our business now to examine, though there ' can be scarcely a more interesting field of inquiry for us, than the uses of Suffering, and the extent to which God employs it in the accomplishment of his plans. These purposes are all benevo- lent, most highly so ; still, suffering, freely employed, is the means through which they are produced. All nature thus corroborates what the Scriptures assert, that our Maker is not only a father to be loved, but a magistrate to be feared. The dreadful suffering, which God has in providence in- flicted upon communities and individuals for the violations of his laws, can not be described, nor can they be conceived by those who have not experienced them. "We know, how- ever, something of their power, and the awful extent to which retribution for sin has been poured out upon men. It is, indeed, far. pleasanter, in examining the character of God, and his dealings with us, to dwell upon the proofs of his love, than upon those of his anger ; but we must not yield to the inclination, so as to go to the Judgment with expectations of Lenity and forbearance which we shall not find. It is best to know the whole, and to be prepared for it ; and not to attempt to avoid a coming storm, by denying its approach, or shutting our eyes to the evidences of its destructive power Still, however, the feelings which a knowledge of God's character as a magistrate, will awaken in us, will depend in a great degree upon the side which we take in respect to obedience to his law. An efficient government is a terror to evil-doers, but it has no terrors for those who do well. "We all love to be under the dominion of just and righteous laws, and if we are disposed to obey them ourselves, we like to have them inflexibly administered in respect to others. If, 160 THE COItNER-STONE. Conclusion. therefore, to any of our readers the subject of this chapter ig a gloomy one, we assure them, in conclusion, that they may divest it of all its gloom, by giving up sin and returning to duty. When we think of the ravages of sin in this world, the cruelty, the oppression and indescribable miseries which has brought down upon its victims, we feel that we need an efficient and a strong protector. We must be more ot less exposed a little longer here to its baneful influences, but the time will come when we shall enjoy full protection and perfect safety ; and though we can not but feel sorrowful and sad, to reflect that any of our fellow-beings are to be shut up at last in an eternal prison, we still can not but re- joice that the time will come, when neglect and disobedience toward God, and selfish and ungovernable passions toward man, will be confined, and separated from all that is pure and holy, by a gulf that they can not pass over. We know that this little planet, with all its millions, is as nothing among the countless Worlds which fill the wide-spread re- gions all around it. Into those regions we can ,not but hope that sin and misery have not yet extended. There may be, we hope that there is, unbroken peace and happiness and virtue there. The destructive disease which has raged hero for forty centuries, spreading misery and ruin everywhere, can be controlled and stopped only by Jehovah's hand. All depends upon him ; and the only hope of our ever finding a safe and quiet home, where we can once more be protected and happy, depends upon the firm and inflexible decision with which he manages this case of rebellion. He must not pardon, unless he can pardon safely. He must not endanger the peace and happiness of his empire, to save the compara- tively few who have deliberately rejected his reign. PARDON. 161 Pardon possible. Always desirable when it is safe. CHAPTER VI. I PARDON, OR CONSEQUENCES SAVED. "God hath not appointed ns to wrath, but to obtain salvation by our Lord Jesus Christ, who died for us, that, whether we wake or sleep, we should live together with him." Notwithstanding all that was said in the last chapter, in respect to the necessity of the most vigorous and energetic measures in arresting the consequences of sin, there is such a thing as pardon ; — forgiveness, perfectly free, and yet per- fectly safe. There are various ways hy which the object of punishment can be secured, without punishment itself, — though these various modes are perhaps only different appli- cations of the same or similar principles. The objects of law and penalty are to hold up to the community distinctly the nature and the effects of sin, — to make a strong moral im- pression against it, and thus to erect a barrier which shall prevent its extension. A wise parent or teacher, who feels the necessity of being firm and decisive in government, wiL find a great many cases occur, in which punishment that is really deserved, is still not necessary ; that is, when the ob- jects enumerated above can be attained without it. Now every wise parent and teacher desires to save suffering where- ever it can be saved, and though there is great evil in doing this when it can not be done safely, still there are cases where it certainly is safe. The reader is requested to call to mind here, the story of the lost cap, given at the commencement of the third chap 162 THE CORNER-STONE. The story of the lost cap. The teacher's motives. ter of this work. It was there introduced for another pur- pose, but it illustrates well the point which we have here in view. The course which the teacher pursued in that case, was undoubtedly far better than any plan of punishment would have been. Every one will admit this. There can not be a question in the mind of any one who understands the workings of human nature in such a case, that the course there described, was admirably adapted to secure the end in view. In order to perceive this, however, it must be dis- tinctly understood, what the real object of punishment is, namely, to produce a certain influence upon the community that witnesses it, and not to gratify any feeling of personal resentment against the offender. If the teacher, in that case, had been a passionate man, and if his feelings of resentment had been aroused at the misconduct of his pupil, he never would have devised such a plan to save him. It is difficult, in fact, to decide which appears most conspicuous in the case, the wish on the part of the teacher to promote the highest welfare of the little community over which he pre- sided, or delicate and compassionate interest in the welfare of the offender. Any person who is capable of perceiving moral beauty at all, will see that, in the plan which he adopted, both these feelings, namely, a firm and steady regard for the safety of the community, and a benevolent interest in the transgressor, were singularly and beautifully blended. The plan was in substance this : he substituted his own inconvenience and suffering for the punishment of his pupil, so as to rely upon the former for the production of that moral effect which would naturally have resulted from the latter ; and we observe three things in the character of the transac tion. which are of importance to be mentioned here. First, the plan originated in love for the offender, and a wish to gave him suffering. Secondly, it was exactly adapted to touch his feelings, and produce a real change in his heart, PARDON. 163 Cases common. Not precisely analogous to the plan of salvation. which punishment probably would not have effected. Thirdly, it secured the great object, the right moral impres- sion upon the little community which witnessed it, far more perfectly and more pleasantly than any other mode could have done. The whole plan is an instance of what may be called moral substitution, — putting the voluntary suffering of the innocent, in the place of the punishment of the guilty. This principle, substantially, though seldom or never brought to view by writers on rewards and punishments, is very often applied in practice. They who resort to it, perceive, in the individual cases, by a kind of instinctive feeling, its powerful and healthful effect, though they may not perhaps philoso- phize on its nature. The story of the lost cap, is a specimen of many cases, where this or a similar principle is acted upon by intelligent parents or teachers. Each particular case, however, is different, from the others, and presents the prin- ciple in a different aspect. I will therefore add one or two others, describing them as they actually occurred. Before proceeding, however, I ought distinctly to say, that no human transactions can be entirely analogous to the great plan of redeeming man from sin aud misery by the sufferings and death of Jesus Christ. They may partly illustrate it, how- ever, some conforming to it in one respect, and some in an- other. The reader will therefore understand that I offer these cases as analogous to the arrangement made for saving men through the atoning sufferings of Jesus Christ, only in the general principle which they involve, namely, that of moral substitution, — accomplishing, by means of the suffer- ing of the innocent, what is ordinarily secured by the punish- ment of the guilty. I will first mention a very trivial case. I give this rather than more important and extraordinary ones, because it is more likely to recall to the minds of parents similar instances which may have occurred in then own government. 164 THE CORNER-STONE. The broken stucco. In a certain school, it was the custom for the pupils to play during the recesses, in the school-room, with soft balls, stuffed lightly with cotton, and which could consequently he thrown without danger. The use of hard halls, which were sometimes brought to the school, were strictly forbidden. One morning, as the teacher entered the room, and was just taking his seat at his desk, a girl approached him, with a very sad and sorrowful look, and followed by several of her companions. She had hi her hands some fragments oi stucco. THE FALLEN STUCCO. " Sir," said she sorrowfully, holding up the broken pieces. " see what I have done." "What is it," said the teacher. She pointed up to the ceiling, where was an ornamented center-piece, wrought in stucco, and said she had broken it off from that, with her hard ball. FAR DON. 165 Suffering of the innocent for the guilty. Effects of the substitution. It was very evident from the countenanee of the offender, and from the general expression of concern which was visible in the many faces which were turned toward the group at the teacher's desk, that she herself, and all the rest of 1he pupils, felt deeply the fact, that the consequences of this breach of law must come upon the teacher, as the one intrusted with the apartment, and responsible for it, They were attached to their teacher, and would rather have suffer- ed themselves than have brought inconvenience and trouble to him ; and he perceived by a glance of the eye, that by this means a moral impression was made far more effectual and valuable than any punishment would have produced. In a word, he saw that, through his suffering, the offender might safely go free. If no injury had been done, he would have felt bound to notice very seriously any violation of the law ; but since the injury came upon him, and since the little community was in such a state that it would feel this deeply, the very best, the very wisest thing that he could do, was to pass over the offense entirely. A rough, passionate, and unthink- ing man, might, perhaps, in such a case, have rebuked, with greater sternness, and punished with greater severity, just in proportion to the inconvenience and trouble which the offense brought upon him ; but he who knows human nature, and studies the adaptation of moral means for the accomplishment of moral ends, will see in a moment, that in such a case the mildest punishment, and even the gentlest reproof, would weaken the impression, and that the way to make the most of such an occurrence, would be to dismiss the sorrowful pupil with kind words in respect to the injury, and without a syllable about her sin. This, too, is moral substitution; receiving, through the sufferings of the innocent, the advan- tages usually sought from the punishment of the guilty. It is difficult to lay down general principles in regard to the applications of this principle in the moral education of 156 THE CORNER-STONE. The principle often applied. Another case. The students and the joiners. the young, because so much depends upon the state of feeling of the parties concerned, at the time. For example, in the case last described, had the offender been not penitent and not concerned, and had a feeling of cold indifference prevailed in the school-room, in regard to the injury which had been done, the course taken would have been most evidently unwise, and unsafe. It is a question of moral impression on hearts, — an impression in favor of law, and against the breach of it, — and it is only where this impression can be produced better without the punishment than with it, that there can be any safe remission. It is however unquestionably true, and all parents and teachers ought to keep it in mind, that where any wrong act performed by the young results in any damage or injury, or other evil consequences, these consequences, in a wise and dexterous government, will lighten, not increase the severity of reproof and punishment. They go far toward producing the very impression which reproof and punishment are intended to effect, and consequently, they diminish the necessity of it. Those parents and teachers who take little notice of offenses when they are harmless, and punish them with severity when followed by accidental injury, ought to perceive that they are not administering moral government, but only gratifying their own feelings of resentment and revenge. In the case which we have just described, the injurious consequences were not voluntarily assumed by the innocent individual in order to allow the guilty one to be forgiven. They came upon him without any consent of his. The following case is different in this respect. The persons who suffered the injury here voluntarily assumed it. The ease, like the former, is described exactly as it occurred. At one of the New England colleges, not many years ago, a company of joiners were employed in erecting a building. A temporary shed had been put up in the college yard, where TARDON. 167 Mischief. The proposed substitution. the work went on, and where, at night, the tools were left, protected only by the honesty of the neighborhood. From some cause or other, a feud arose between some of the work- men and a portion of the students, and the next day, when the latter came to their work, they found their tools scattered about in disorder, and in a very bad condition. Planes were gapped and notched, saws dulled, chisel-handles split, and augers had been bored into the ground. The indignation which this wanton injury excited on the part of the workmen, threatened very serious consequences. Some measure of re- taliation was expected from the mechanics, which of course would be repaid again by the students, and thus it was feared that a deadly and permanent hostility would be pro- duced. It was of course impossible to ascertain the authors of the mischief, and if they had been ascertained, punish- ment would probably only have made them more secret in their future plans. A species of moral substitution removed the difficulty entirely. The plan was this. After evening prayers, when the students were all assem- bled, one of the officers stated the case to them, — described the injury, — presented an estimate of its amount, and pro- posed to them that they should raise by voluntary contribu- tion, a sum sufficient to remunerate the injured workmen. " There is no just claim upon you for this," sVid he ; " none whatever. The mischief was indeed undoubtedly done by some of you, but it was certainly by a very small number, and the rest are not in any degree responsible for it. Still, by leaving their tools so completely exposed, the workmen expressed their entire confidence in you. This confidence must now be shaken ; but if you take the course I propose, and voluntarily bear the injury yourselves, you will say, openly and publicly, that you disavow all participation in the offense, and all approval of it ; and you will probably prevent its repetition, and confidence in you will be restored. Still. 168 THE CORNER-STONE. Its effects. Moral impression. Peculiarities of the case. however, there is no obligation whatever resting upon you, to do what I propose. I make only a suggestion, and you will consider ai\d decide upon it as you please." The students were then left to themselves, and after a few minutes' debate, occasioned by a slight opposition from a few individuals, the vote was carried almost unanimously, to re- pair the injury. The money was contributed and paid. The innocent suffered, and the guilty went free, and the moral effect of the transaction was most happy. The whole quarrel was arrested at once. The tools were repaired ; and thence- forward they were exposed in perfect safety, though as" un- protected as before. It ought to be stated that the sum necessary for repairing the damage in this case was a very trifling one, and it was not at all the amount of it that determined the moral effect of the transaction. Any officer of the college would have readily paid double the sum himself to have ended the difficulty. The effect was not produced by the reparation, but by the guilty individuals' seeing that their innocent companions would assume the consequences of their guilt. It was not a measure of ways and means, but of moral impression. This case seems different from the preceding, in two im- portant particulars. The first is, that the loss was borne, neither by the offenders, nor by the magistracy, but by a third party, not directly concerned in the transaction. The second point is, there was in this case no evidence that the offenders were penitent. In fact, the plan had no reference to the offenders at all. Its whole aim was moral impression upon the community. The offenders themselves succeeded in escaping in this instance, not through any plan formed for the purpose of saving them, but through the imperfection of the government, which had no means of detecting them. Tbey were not forgiven ; they simply escaped. Generally, PARDON. 169 The offenders not penitent. Favors received for Christ's sake. Illustration. in such cases, the plan devised aims at the accomplishment of two objects ; to save the offender, if he is penitent, and to produce the right moral effect upon the community. Here, however, the former was no part of the design ; it was the latter exclusively. Had the individuals who actually per- petrated the wrong been discovered, and had they been found still unchanged in heart, justice would not have been satis- fied, to use Dr. Johnson's language, without their punish- ment. Still the other great design, — a strong moral impres- sion upon the community, to arrest the progress of sin, and to create a universal feeling against it, was well secured through the voluntary consent of the innocent to suffer the consequences which ought justly to be borne by the guilty. All these are cases in which a person is relieved, through the instrumentality of others, from sufferings which he de- serves ; and it is equally in accordance with universally ad- mitted principles of human nature, that a person should in the same manner through the instrumentality of others some- times be admitted to enjoyments which he himself does not deserve. We are represented as not only being forgiven through Jesus Christ, but as receiving every blessing and favor for his sake. This seems to be a moral substitution of a little different character, but it is exemplified with even greater frequency in human life, than the other. There calls at your door, late at night, a wandering stranger, and asks admittance. He seems destitute and wretched, and as it is not convenient, and perhaps not even safe, to admit him into your family, you very properly direct him to a public house at a little distance, and supply him with the means of pro- curing a reception there. Just as he is leaving you, you im- agine you recognize something familiar in his features, and on inquiring his name, you find he is the son of one of your dearest and earliest friends. How promptly do you change your plan, and bid him welcome, and endeavor to repay by H 170 THE CORNER-STONE. Moral governments. your hospitality to the son, the favors which you received in days long past from the father. And yet it is in fact no re- payment to the father. It may he that he has heen long in the grave. It is a substitution ; and there is an universal, and almost instinctive feeling in the human heart, leading us, under certain circumstances, to make such substitutions, — to e how favor to one, on account of obligation to another. The apostle Paul understood this principle, when he sent back Onesimus to his master, and endeavored to secure for him a kind reception by saying, " If thou count me a partner, receive him as myself." The reader will perceive that it has not been our object, in the preceding illustrations, to find a parallel among human transactions for the great plan adopted in the government of God, to render safe the forgiveness of human sins. Such a parallel, precisely, can not be found. All that we have been attempting to show is, that the principles upon which the plan is based have a deep-seated foundation in the very con- stitution of the human mind, and that they are constantly showing themselves, more or less perfectly, whenever a real moral government is intelligently administered here. We must look, however, for such exemplifications of these principles, generally in the government of the young ; for in no other case in this world is a government properly a moral one. The administration of law in a political community, is a dif- ferent thing altogether. It is simply the enforcement of a system of rules of action, designed almost exclusively for the prevention of injury. In a moral government, strictly so called, one mind superior to the others, presides over a com- munity of minds, and acts upon them in his administration, with reference to their moral welfare. He looks beyond mere external action, — adapts his measures to moral wants and moral feelings, — and aims at an influence over hearts. A TARDON. 171 Political governments. Differences. political government, though often confounded with this, is distinct in its nature, and aims at different objects. It at- tempts only the protection of the community against injury. Its province is to regulate external actions, not to purify and elevate the feelings of the heart ; and it does this by endeav- oring to enforce certain prescribed rules, relating almost ex- clusively to overt acts, and designed merely to prevent injury. This difference in the nature and design of a political gov- ernment, and of a moral government, strictly so called, is fundamental, and it applies with peculiar force to the subjects which we are considering. In fact there is, properly speak- ing, no such thing as forgiveness in human jurisprudence. Legal provision is indeed made for what is called pardon ; but this is, in theory, a mode of arresting punishment where evidence not brought forward at the trial comes to light after- ward, or where peculiar circumstances which the strict principles of law could not recognize render it equitable to remit the sentence. In practice, it goes indeed sometimes farther than this. In some cases the executive, overcome with compassion for the criminal, liberates him at the risk of sacrificing the public good. In other cases, by a common though tacit understanding, pardons are granted so uniformly in certain cases, as to amount to a permanent modification of the law. But such a remission of legal penalties as this, is in its nature entirely different from forgiveness. It is, in fact, only the exercise of a discretionary power, lodged in suitable hands, to modify the inflexible decisions of law, when equity, in peculiar circumstances, demands their modification, — it is not real forgiveness. Ileal forgiveness in political government has no place. We must look, therefore, among the young, where alone we find that any thing like moral training is the object of government, for illustrations of the principles of God's administration. "We shall find them however here. k wise parent or teacher, who acts intelligently, and watches 172 THE CORNER-STONE. Two motives for punishment. the operation of moral causes and effects upon the hearts un- der his care, will often, though perhaps insensibly, adopt these principles, and will imitate, almost without knowing it, tho plans of the great Father of all. "We. certainly shall find abundant examples of the operation of the great principles which we have been endeavoring to bring to view : namely, that the object of punishment is not to gratify resentment against an individual, but to promote the welfare of the com munity ; that it can not safely be remitted, unless there is something to take its place, and to do its work, in produ- cing moral impression ; and that this end can not generally be attained without the suffering of some one who is inno- cent, in the place of the guilty*. We have dwelt upon this subject perhaps long enough al- ready, but it is so essential to the peace and happiness of the young Christian, clearly to understand it, that we will pre- sent it in one other point of view. Let us suppose that a fa- ther, when sitting with his children around his evening fire, accidentally learns that one of them has played truant dur- ing the day. He has been guilty of the same offense once or twice before, and the measures which were adopted then have proved to be ineffectual. Now there are plainly two distinct feelings which may lead the father to inflict punish- ment upon the guilty one. I mean here by punishment, any means whatever of giving him pain, either by severe reproof or deprivation of enjoyment, or direct suffering. First, the father may be a passionate man, and he may feel personal resentment against the boy, and punish him under the influ- ence of those feelings ; a case exceedingly common. Secondly, without feeling any resentment, but rather looking with ten- der compassion upon his son, he may see the necessity of do- ing something effectual to arrest this incipient sin, and to pre- vent its extending to his other children. If now the former is the father's feeling, — an emotion of resentment and pas- PARDON. 173 Their operation in this case. Substitute for punishment. sion, on account of the trouble which the fault has caused, and is likely to cause him, thef e • is no hope for the poor offender ; — resentment can only be^gratined by the suffering of the object of it. If, on the other hand, the feeling is only a calm, though perhaps anxious regard for the moral safety and happiness of his family, there is some hope ; for punish- ment in this case, would only be resorted to on account of its promoting this safety and happiness, by the moral impression which it would make, and there may perhaps be -seme other way of accomplishing this object. But let us look at this more particularly. The reason why truancy is so serious an evil, is not the loss of a day or two at school, now and then, — or any other immediate and direct consequence of it. It is because it is the beginning of a long course of sin ; it leads to bad company, and to deception, and to vicious habits ; it stops the progress of preparation for the duties of life, and hardens the heart, and opens the door for every temptation and sin, which, if not closed, must bring the poor victim to ruin. These are what constitute its dangers. Now the difficulty with the truant boy, whose case we are considering, is that he does not see these things. He is spiritually blind ; and argument and persuasion will not open his eyes. Punishment is there- fore necessary to make such an impression upon his mind and that of the others, as to arrest the progress of the sin. It may be confinement. It may be some disgrace or depriva- tion, or suffering in any other form. If it is however judi- ciously administered, and in a proper spirit, it must have an effect, and it may remove the evil altogether. But there may be some other way of accomplishing the object, — that is, of producing the needed impression. Let us suppose such a way. Let us imagine that after learning that his son had been guilty of the offense, the father gives no in- dications of resentment, or of any other personal feeling, but. 174 THE CORNER-STONE. The father's plan. Visit to the poorhouse. The scene. begins to think what he can do to arrest the evil, without bringing suffering upon his boy. At last he says to the chil- dren, who have been standing by, we will suppose, while he was hesitating, awaiting his decision, " My boys, I wish very much that you all should understand what the real nature of truancy is, and what its consequences are. I shall, how- ever, say no more about it now, but to-morrow I shall wish you to go and take a walk with me." The boys look forward with eager interest to the appointed time, and when it arrives the father takes them to a neighbor- ing poorhouse, where lies a man sick, and suffering excru- ciating pains under the power of diseases brought on by vice. We may suppose the father to have been accidentally ac- quainted with the case. The boys enter the large and dreary apartment, crowded with beds, and tenanted by misery in every form ; for there is an apartment in every extensive poorhouse, where you may see the very extreme of human woe, — the last earthly stage of the broad road,- — where life lingers in forms of most excessive misery, as if to show how much the mysterious principle can endure. On one narrow couch, foaming mania glares at you, — on another lies sight- less, senseless, torpid old age, a picture of indescribable de- crepitude and deformity ; — from a third, you hear the groans and see the restless tossing of acute suffering, — and gibbering idiocy laughs upon a fourth, with a noise which grates more harshly upon the feelings than the deepest groans. Into such a scene the father enters, followed by his sons, pale and trembling, for it is a scene which they have scarcely nerve to endure. The attendant, knowing whom they wish to see, precedes them, guiding them to a bed in the corner, where lies the only patient in the room who has mind enough left to be conscious -who, and what, and where he is. He has covered his head in the vain effort to hide from the horrors of his last earthly home. The attendant PARDON. 170 The abandoned. Consequences of truancy THE HOSPITAL. raises the corner of the blanket which conceals him. and the visitors see there a haggard face, with its two glazed and motionless eyes rolled up toward them, and staring wild- ly from their sunken sockets. The visitor has brought the wretched patient some little com- fort or luxury, which may amuse and gratify him a moment, though it can not really relieve him. He then falls into conversation with him, and the boys who stand by, learn something of the progress and the termination of a life of vice and crime. The father leads the wretched man back in memory to his early childhood, and learns from the sufferer's own lips that truancy and the bad company which it led him into, were the first steps of his wretched course. Now there is nothing unnatural in all this. Precisely such an experiment may never have beeit made, but plans for producing moral impressions exactly analogous to it have been successfully adopted a thousand times ; and every reader will see that if such a plan were adopted, and if the hearts of the boys were in such a state as deeply to feel it, it would, in this case, have rendered all farther proceedings unneces- sary. If the heart of the guilty boy was raally touched by the scene, so that he should go home penitent and humbled, and resolved to sin no more, it would be perfectly safe to for- 176 THE CORNER-STONE. Moral impression made by the death of Christ. give him. And the point to be kept most distinctly in view in the case, — the point which it is, in fact, the whole design of the case to illustrate, is that free forgiveness, which would he dangerous alone, may be rendered safe by means of meas- ures ingeniously and judiciously adopted, which shall produce the same moral impression upon the community which pun- ishment would have made ; and that any moral governor who is actuated by a calm regard for the general good, and not by personal resentment, will devise such measures if he can. It is the great glory of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, that it thus provides a way for the safe forgiveness of sin. We are taken to the cross, and we see the nature and effects of sin there ; and the great sacrifice which was made on Cal- vary, goes instead of the just punishment of men, to make that great moral impression which is necessary to sustain law, and satisfy justice, and arrest the consequences of sin. The imaginary case which we have been describing, is evidently very different in many respects from the plan of salvation by the sacrifice of the Son of God. It would have resembled it more closely if, instead of one offender, we had supposed two, one of whom should be affected and led to penitence by the scene that he witnessed, while the other remained hard-hearted and stubborn. The father would then have felt compelled, while he forgave the one. to adopt Borne farther measures in respect to the other. The resem- blance would have bejtn closer still, if instead of there being exhibited to the boys some existing misery, an innocent brother could, in some mysterious way, himself have volun- tarily assumed for a time the sufferings naturally consequent upon the sin to be condemned. These changes, however, would not essentially alter the nature of the case, nor touch the great principle which it is intended to bring to view, namely, that to render it safe to forgive sin, some plan must PARDON. 177 Extent and power of it undeniable. Its present influence. be devised for producing by other means the moral effects for which punishment is intended. We have, in former chapters, taken a view of two great objects for which the Son of God appeared here, namely, to set us an example of moral action, and to teach us, by pre- cept, our duty. We have considered the nature of the ex- ample, and also that of the system of duty, which he held up to men. We now come, however, to look at another great design which was accomplished by his coming, — one far greater, probably, than either of those already alluded to, — namely, to make by his perfect obedience to the law of God during his life, and by the sufferings which he endured at the close of it, such an exhibition of the nature and of the effects of sin, and such an expiation for it, as should render it safe for those who are penitent to be forgiven. He came, in other words, not only to teach us duty, and to set an example of its performance, but to suffer for us, and to make, by that suffering, an atonement for sin. His death was to make a moral impression upon the great community of intelligent minds, which should accomplish the end which would have otherwise been produced by the punishment of the guilty, and thus open the way for pardon. And it has made this impression. It is now eighteen cen- turies since that death occurred, and among all the varieties of opinion which have been adopted in regard to it, by Atheist, Deist, and Christian, in one point all must agree, that the death of Jesus Christ has made a stronger impres- sion upon the human race, than any other transaction since the creation of the world. In the remote and subjugated province where it occurred, it was witnessed only by a few thousands, and they looked upon it with little more interest than would have been excited by the execution of any other object of popular fury ; they perhaps supposed too, that in a few months it would be forgotten. But no. In a very few 178 THE CORNER-STONE. Its present influence. Its prospective influence. Necessity of atonement. weeks, it was the means of arresting the attention, and sub* duing the hearts, and altering the characters and lives of thousands. The tidings of the transaction, and the explana- tion of it, spread like a flame. The walls of the city could not confine it ; the boundaries of the province could not con- fine it. The influence of wealth, and the coercion of mili- tary power, were equally insufficient to stop its progress, or to prevent its effects. It shook the Roman empire to its foundations, — and now, eighteen centuries from the time of its occurrence, it holds ascendency over more hearts than it ever did before, and it is an ascendency which is widening, deepening and strengthening, and promises to spread to every nation, and to every family on the globe. This impression, too, is of the right kind. A knowledge of the death of Christ, with the explanation of it given in the Scriptures, touches men's hearts ; it shows the nature and the tendencies of sin ; it produces fear of God's displeas- ure, and resolution to return to duty ; and thus it produces effects by which justice is satisfied, and the authority of law sustained, far better, in fact, than it would be by the severest punishment of the guilty sinner. There has always been in human hearts, a feeling of the necessity, of some provision to render safe the forgiveness of sin. Penitence has never been enough to quiet conscience. Hence the customs of resorting to self-inflicted sufferings, and to sacrifices for sin which have prevailed in every age. The institution of sacrifices was indeed established by divine authority, being intended apparently to typify the great real sacrifice which was to be offered at last. But though estab- lished by divine command, it could not have spread so far, and have been so constantly and universally observed by men, if there had not been some strong and deeply-seated feelinp-s in the human heart with which it accorded. PARDON. 179 Sacrifices. Reparation required. Though, as the Apostle informs us, the "blood of bulls and of goats could not take away sin, that is, it was not sufficient to render punishment unnecessary, still the institution of sacrifices, as regulated by God's commands to Moses, was admirably adapted to the moral condition and wants of men. One of the most brief and lucid descriptions of it is contained in the following passage. " And the Lord spake unto Moses, saying, If a soul sin, and commit a trespass against the Lord, and lie unto his neighbor in that which was delivered him to keep, or in fellowship, or in a thing taken away by violence, or hath deceived his neighbor ; or have found that which was lost, and lieth concerning it, and sweareth falsely ; in any of all these that a man doeth, sinning therein : " Then it shall be, because he hath sinned and is guilty, that he shall restore that which he took violently away, or the thing which he hath deceitfully gotten or that which was delivered to him to keep, or the lost thing which he found, or all that about which he hath sworn falsely : he i^hall even restore it in the principal, and shall add the fifth part more thereto, and give it unto him to whom it apper- taineth, in the day of his trespass offering. " And he shall bring his trespass offering unto the Lord, a ram without blemish out of the flock, with thy estimation, for a trespass offering unto the priest : and the priest shall make an atonement for him before the Lord ; and it shall be forgiven him, for any thing of all that he hath done in tres- passing therein." Leviticus vi. 1-7. The first thing that attracts our notice in this provision is, that reparation, — full reparation for all the injury must be made, as the first step toward a reconciliation with God. Another interesting thought is, that the animal required to 180 THE CORNEE.-STONE. Sincere repentance. Principles of moral government. be brought for the sacrifice, was one which in ordinary cases would probably be an object of affection to the offender ; for in pastoral life men almost love their flocks and herds, and the owner of the innocent victim, one would suppose, could not see its blood flowing for his sins, without being moved. Still, however, it was not chiefly on this account, that is, on ac- count of the direct moral effect of the transaction upon him, that the sinner was required to bring his offering, but it was to remind him habitually, that something was necessary to open the way for his forgiveness, besides mere repentance and reparation ; and thus to bring him to the right state of heart to be saved by means of the real propitiation which was at length to be made. The manner in which David speaks of this subject, shows that it was generally understood that this duty was not intended to be an empty form. " Thou desirest not sacrifice, else would I give it ; thou delightest not in burnt offering. The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit : a broken and a contrite heart, God, thou wilt not despise." Psalm li. 16, 17. We have now accomplished the plan which we hacf* marked out for this chapter, which was to exhibit some of the principles upon which the pardon of sin can safely be bestowed. These principles are hi substance as follows. The design of God in connecting such severe and lasting sufferings with sin, is not resentment against the sinner, but a calm and benevolent interest in the general good. He wishes no one to suffer, and has accordingly formed a plan by which he can accomplish more perfectly, in another way, what would naturally have been accomplished by the inflex- ible execution of the law. By this means, the way is open for our forgiveness if we are penitent for our sins. The cir- cumstances of this sacrifice will be considered more fully in a subsequent chapter ; the design of this has been only to PARDON. 181 Application of the subject. Address to the inquirer. Source of anxiety. explain some of the acknowledged principles on which the necessity of it is grounded. This object is now accomplish- ed ; hut before closing the chapter, we wish to devote a few pages to turning this subject to a practical account. There are a great many persons to whose wounded spirits the truths advanced here would be a balm, if they would but apply them. Many a thoughtful reader of such a work as this is often the prey of mental anxiety and suffering, which the subject of this chapter is exactly calculated to relieve. You feel that you are a great sinner, and though this feeling produces no powerful and overwhelming conviction, it still destroys your peace, and fills you with uneasiness, which, though it may be sometimes interrupted, returns again with increased power at every hour of reflection, and especially when you are in solitude. You wish that you were a Chris- tian, you say. I will suppose that you really do. Many persons who say that, really mean only that they wish for the benefits of piety, not for piety itself. They would like the rewards which the Savior has to bestow, but they do not like his service. I will suppose, however, that you really wish to be his. It is possible that you do, and 'yet you may not have found peace ; you think that there is some love for the Savior in your heart, some interest in his cause, some desire to serve him, and yet you do not feel relieved from the burden of sin, and are not cheered with the spiritual peace and joy which beam in the hearts of others. Now the cause of your restless unhappiness is a burdened conscience ; — a burdened conscience. There is a sort of instinctive feeling, or if not instinctive, it is interwoven with all the inmost sentiments of the soul, — that guilt deserves punish- ment. You feel that you are guilty. You know that God is an efficient governor, — a God of terrible majesty ; for whatever men may say, there is something in the heart, 182 THE CORNER-STONE. Remedy. Anxiety needless. Redemption fully purchased. which testifies that it is an evil and bitter thing to sin against God, and that the soul which gives itself up to sin, must expect to feel the weight of divine displeasure. You know this, and you feel it, and though you ask forgiveness, vou do not realize that it can safely be bestowed. Now the emedy is simple, and effectual. It is for you to come in FAITH TO THE CROSS OF JESUS CHRIST. Let me explain precisely what I mean by this. Your conscience is uneasy, being burdened by the load of your past sins. Perhaps you do not distinctly fear punishment, but it is the sense of responsibility for sin, and an undefined dread of something that is yet to come, which really destroys your rest. Now why have you any thing to fear ? Why should God ever call you to account for those sins ? It must be either from personal resentment against you, or else because the welfare of his government requires the execution of his law upon you. There can not be any thing like the former, you know. It must be the latter, if either. Now the balm for your wounded spirit is this, that the moral impression in respect to the nature and tendencies of sin, which is the only possible reason that God can have for leaving you to suffer its penalties, is accomplished far better by the life and death of his Son ; and if you are ready to abandon sin for the future, there is no reason whatever remaining why you should be punished for the past. God never could have wished to punish you for the sake of doing evil, and all the good which he could have accomplished by it is already effected in another and a better way. Now believe this cordially. Give it full control in your heart. Come to God and ask for forgiveness on this ground. Trust to it fully. If you do, you will feel that the account for the past is closed and settled forever. You are free from all responsibility in regard to it. Ran- somed by your Redeemer, the chains of doubt and fear and sin fall off, and you stand, free, and safe, and happy, a new PARDON. 183 Fuith necessary. Difference between faith and belief. The electric machine. creature, in Jesus Christ, — redeemed by his precious blood, and. henceforth safe under his mighty protection. This change, bringing to a close the old responsibilities for sin, and commencing as it were a new life in the Savior, that is, by an intimate union of spirit with him, is very clearly described in many passages of scripture like the following ; which, however, you have perhaps often read without under- standing it. " I am crucified with Christ ; nevertheless I live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me, and the life I now live in the flesh, I live by faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me." To receive these benefits, you must have faith. " I live by faith of the Son of God." Faith means confidence ; not merely cold, intellectual con- viction, but confidence, — a feeling of the heart. To show this distinction clearly, imagine a man unaccustomed to sucl? an elevation, to be taken to the summit of some lofty spire and asked to step out from an opening there, upon a narrow board, suspended by ropes over the dizzy height. How will he shrink back instinctively from it. Explain to him the strength of the ropes, show him their size, and convince him by the most irresistible evidence that they have abundant strength to support many times his weight. Can you make him willing to trust himself to them ? No. But the builder, whose confidence in the suspended scaffolding has been established by experience, stands upon it without fear, and looks down to the stony pavement, a hundred feet below, with an unmoved and steady eye. Now you must have such faith in Christ's sufferings and death, as not merely to admit their efficacy, but to trust yourself to it. A father was once amusing a number of children with an electric machine, and after one or two of them had touched the knob and received the shock, they drew back from the apparatus, and looked upon it with evident dread. The father presently held out to them the jar, uncharged, and 184 THE CORNER-STONE. The children and the electric machine. Christian faith. consequently harmless, and said distinctly, but without em« phasis, " If you touch it now, you will feel nothing. Who will try?" The children drew back with their hands behind them. " You do not believe me," said he. " Yes, sir," said they, with one voice ; and several hands were held out to prove their faith ; but they were quickly withdrawn before reaching the dangerous knob. One alone, a timid little girl, had that kind of confidence in her father which led her really to trust to him. The rest believed his word, but had not heart-felt faith in it. Even the little be- liever's faith was not unwavering. You could see upon her face, when the little knuckle ap- proached the harmless brass ball, a slight expression of anxiety, showing that she had some doubts and fears after all ; and there was an evident feel- ing of relief when she faith touched the knob, and found, from actual trial, that her father's word was true, and that there was really nothing there. This last is Christian faith exactly. It not only believe? what the Savior says, but it acts in reliance upon it. It trusts to Christ, and throws itself upon him, and tries to hush its remaining fears, and to feel fully the confidence which il knows is deserved. Still there will be too often a slight mis PARDON. 18 J Doubts and fears. The way to find peace. Justified by the law. giving, — a hesitating fear, alternating and mingling with the confidence and love, — and expressing itself in the prayer, "Lord, I "believe, help thou mine unbelief." There ought -not to be, however, the slightest misgiving. It is sinful and unreasonable, even when it exists in the smallest possible degree. Come at once then to the cross of Christ with, faith in it; Real heart-felt confidence in its efficacy in taking away all the necessity for punishment, if you are only ready now to abandon sin. If you do this, you may be sure that peace and happiness will return. This will give you peace, but nothing else will. So deeply in the human heart has God laid the feeling that sin must bring suffering in its train, and that you can not get free from the burden of responsibility for the past but in this way. You may forget it for a time ; you may drown it by the excitements of business, or of pleasure ; but the poison will remain, rankling more and more, and the more clearly you see your sins, and the more deep your repentance, the more distinctly will you feel that repentance alone can never authorize their remission. We can not be justified by any deeds of the law ; that is, we can not be pardoned, — con- sidered just, — by any thing that we can now do in obedience to the law. We must be justified by faith ; that is, if we are to enjoy real peace with God, it must be through Jesus Christ our Lord who gave himself for us, that we might be reconciled to God through the propitiation which he has made for our sins. When a person first commences his career as a moral agent, he then indeed has the alternative before him of obedi- ence or disobedience ; and if he chooses the former and obeys, he is then justified by the lata. The phrase is almost a technical one, but the meaning is obvious. He keeps the Law, and on account of this obedience he stands innocent and 186 THE CORNER-STONE. Lasting effects of sin. Example. The sinning child. safe. He is safe from all charges of guilt, and from all the consequences of guilt. He enjoys peace of mind and a quiet conscience which result from his own moral excellence, — his strict obedience to the law. He is justified hy works, and can have no place for repentance, and no need of a Savior. If, however, he has once committed sin, his character and standing are forever changed. He is, and must be, hence- forward on a different footing. Common sense teaches us this ; — for suppose that among the spotless angels around God's throne there was one who, millions of years ago, on one single occasion, fell into a passion, or yielded his heart to the dominion of any other sin. Suppose that he was brought immediately to repentance, and that he returned to duty, and never afterward transgressed, and that God forgave him his sin, — how evident it is that the moral attitude in which he stands must still, thenceforth, be different from that of all the others. How differently would he be looked upon ! How differently must he forever feel ! The recollection would fol- low him, and something like a sense of responsibility would follow him, — a burden which no lapse of time, and no sub- sequent obedience could remove. It would be so, too, under any other government. Even where the sin is entirely forgiven, the fact that it has once been committed places the sinner on permanently different ground. Among a family of affectionate children, suppose that one should, on a single occasion, rebel against his father, and introduce for one day derangement and suffering into the usually happy circle. The father takes such measures as to bring him back immediately to repentance and submission, and he is forgiven ; freely and fully forgiven, — and yet how plain it is that the next morning, when the family are about to separate from the breakfast table, to engage in the various duties of the day, that this returning and forgiven sinner, glands in a moral attitude entirely different from the rest. PARDON. 187 Change in his moral position. Justification. Peace of conscious rectitude. He feels differently ; his brothers feel toward him differently ; his father looks upon him with new and altered thoughts. The evil consequences of his sin are perhaps all over, — for his father may have remedied them all. The guilt of it is all gone, — for he is really penitent, and he is renewed and strengthened in his feeling of affectionate submission to his father. But something remains. It is not resentment against him ; — Iris father and his brothers love him even more than before. It is not suspicion ; — they feel increased confidence in him, knowing that the bitter lesson that he has learned will save him from wandering again. It is not alienation of any kind, — their hearts are bound more closely to him than ever, and you will see that there is a tone of greater kindness, and a look of greater affection, from father and mother, to this their returning son than if he had not sinned and been forgiven. What is it, then, that remains ? It is hard to describe it, but the heart testifies that there is something which places him in a new position, and gives to the affec- tion of which he is an object, a peculiar character. He is justified ; that is, there no longer rests upon him the respon- sibilities of guilt, — but he is not justified by his obedience, — by the jjjeeds f the law. He has violated law, and wandered from duty, and yet he is justified and loved again. Sin, therefore, even if it is sincerely repented of and en- tirely forgiven, places the soul which has committed it in a new and peculiar attitude. If peace returns, it is not the peace of conscious rectitude ; it is the peace of forgiveness, — of reconciliation ; — as perfect as the other, but of a different kind. This distinction is clear. Every one who looks into his own heart will see it. The two kinds of justification and of peace are brought to view continually in the New Testa- ment, where almost every form of contrast and antithesis is employed to set one over against the other, in order to give point and prominence to the distinction. It is of immense 188 THE CORNER-STONE Peace of forgiveness. Joys of forgi importance that the young Christian should consider this, so that he may clearly understand which kind of peace and happiness it is that he can hope to attain. Forgiveness ; the proud, unsubdued, and restless spirit of the world knows not what it means ; hut he who has ex- perienced the enjoyment which springs from it, feels that it is the richest and deepest fountain of human happiness. The heart renewed, — sin throwing down its weapons and escaping from the temple which it has made wretched so long, — God reconciled, — the soul overflowing with the emotions of grati- tude and love, to which the contrast of past indifference and enmity gives a character of warmth and vividness, which they can never know who have never sinned ; — the past, gloomy and dark as it is, all forgiven, — iiie future, bright and alluring with promised enjoyments which are prized the more as the free unmerited gifts of infinite love, — these are some of the feelings which mingle in the heart which is reconciled to God. Others lie too deep for description ; they must he experienced to he known ; but they who know them will testify, that in the sense of penitence and pardon, where it has full possession of the soul, there are fountains of as pure and deep enjoyment as the heart can contain. The seul rests in it, bathes itself in it, as it were, with contented and peace- ful delight. Other enjoyments are restless and unsatisfying. This fills the soul, and leaves it nothing to wish for but to be undisturbed. It is hardly proper for us to inquire why sin was permitted to enter the government of God ; but this we can see, that it has opened a fountain of enjoyment entirely unknown before. It has brought happiness which, without it, could not have been felt upon the earth, and it has even introduced a new song into heaven. But this is a digression from our path. We were endeav- oring to show that sin necessarily places the soul which has PARDON. 189 The sting of sin. Its permanence. A wounded spirit. fallen a prey to it, in an entirely new moral position. Even when it is forgiven, the moral attitude in which the sinner stands remains permanently changed. This is, however, not the consideration with which we are here chiefly concerned. We wish rather to show the change that it produces in the relation which the soul sustains to its Maker, before it is for- given. It fixes a burden upon the guilty mind, which can not be taken off, though other objects and interests may come in and, in time, hide it in some measure from his view. It is thus perhaps gradually forgotten, but it is not removed. It remains like a fragment of a weapon in a wound, perhaps seldom noticed or felt ; but it is there, and when memory brings it back to view, it sends a pang of remorse to the in- most soul. Many persons carry such sins upon their con- sciences all through life. Some transgression was committed in early youth, which has been a thousand times forgotten, and a thousand times called back by memory to view, and every time it comes the heart sinks, and the spirit writhes, under the rankling of the wound. Such is sin. It is a barbed and poisoned arrow, which, if once allowed to enter, will penetrate deeper and deeper, and will remain, unless removed by a moral treatment adapted to the moral constitution of man ; and the wound can not be healed till the sin is taken away. You may cover it up ; you may forget it, you may, like a man with a wounded side, take care to keep the tender part from the slightest touch which may disturb its quiet, — but the wound still is there, and it can not be healed, till the sting which was left in it is taken away. Now this, my reader, is your case. Sin has reigned in your heart, and consequently the peace and satisfaction of perfect obedience are gone forever ; and such is the moral constitution of the soul, that there is no peace left for you, but that of forgiveness and reconciliation. This can not 190 THE CORNER-STONE. The way to find peace. The Savior. Peace and pardon. come through mere repentance, — or confession, — or reform. It can not come by these means, in any case of sin or crime whatever. A thief who should be pardoned by government, and become truly penitent, and firmly re-established in the principles of integrity, would not, and could not through these alone, be restored to happiness, even as a citizen. The memory of the past would be bitterness and gall, and though he might gradually forget his wound, he could never by such remedies be made whole ; if he had nothing else to save him, he would carry the galling and heavy burden to his grave. And you, if you are to find real peace, real deliverance from the burdens of sin, must find it in clear views of a Savior crucified for you ; and in coming to him with faith, that is, cordial, unhesitating confidence, that he is able and willing to save to the uttermost all who come unto God through him. You must feel that, by his life, and sufferings, and death, he has accomplished all which would have been effected by the punishment due to your sins, and that henceforth you may go free, safe, and happy in him ; — the past remitted forever, and the path of holiness and peace now open broadly before you and inviting you on. We must make a clear distinction, however, between peace and pardon. Cases are constantly occurring, where a person who, from peculiar circumstances, has obscure or . clouded views of the nature of forgiveness, and the necessity of a Sa- vior, is still really penitent for sin. If penitent, he will be forgiven, — in fact he is forgiven, though it may be, as it very often is, weeks and months, and even years, before he sees so clearly the nature of redemption through the son of God, as to have peace and happiness restored to his heart. The great point is, to induce sinners to return to God, and to give their hearts to him. If they do this aright, they will be humble, and watchful, and prayerful, and God will guide them to all truth ; but there are many instances where the returning of PARDON. 191 Peace deferred. John Bunyan's view. peace to the troubled spirit is long delayed. The little child may begin to love its Maker before it knows any thing about the way of safe forgiveness ; so may a half-instructed pagan ; so did in fact the Savior's disciples ; they thought that their master was to have redeemed his country by the exercise of some political power, and they retained this belief until they actually saw him crucified ; and even in Christian countries, a soul may be often so shut away from the light and influ- ences of the gospel, as to feel after a Savior for a long time, in vain. All such persons may be fully pardoned, and yet may be slow in finding peace. It is moral renewal alone, which is the essential thing for pardon A knowledge of the salvation by Jesus Christ, and clear ideas of the great sacrifice for sin, give peace. St. Paul, the ablest, the most powerful and thorough-going preacher of the cross that ever lived, understood this, when, standing before the august as- sembly at Athens, he preached simple repentance, and a judgment to come. If he could induce his hearers to repent, he knew that they would be saved, even though they might not at once attain to such clear ideas of the propitiatory sac- rifice of Christ as to make them feel assured of salvation. Nay, we have higher authority still, for Jehovah himself sent priests and prophets, for four thousand years, simply to call upon his people to repent of sin and do their duty ; they made but a very few obscure allusions to a Savior, — so obscure that they were not understood till that Savior came. John Bunyan has beautifully exhibited this view, by mak- ing Christian continue to bear his burden long after he has entered the narrow way. The face of the pilgrim was turned toward Zion, and though he fell into many sins, and encoun- tered many difficulties on the way, still his heart was chang- ed. Finding the burden of his past sins now a very heavy load, he seeks relief from a friend whom he meets. But the friend replies, " Be content to bear thy burden, till thou com- 192 THE CORNER-STONE. Christian at the cross. . The way to remove the harden. est to the place of deliverance : for there it will fall from thy back of itself." This burden, now, was not the burden of existing sin, but of responsibility for past sin. If it had been the former, the advice of the guide would have been absurd and ruinous. No, it was not the present pollution of sin, but its past re- sponsibilities which became so heavy a burden to the pilgrim ; and though his heart was renewed, and he was in the right way, it was some time before he came so near to the cross of Christ, as to understand and feel its power in relieving his conscience of its load. He went on afterward with light and happy steps. The great question, then, with every religious inquirer is, whether you have found 'penitence, not whether you have found peace. Do you relinquish sin ? Are you weary of it, and do you loathe and abhor it, on its own account, as an evil and bitter thing, from which you can sincerely pray to be free ? There is a burden resting upon you, which still destroys your rest, and while your heart has really returned to God, and you can find no happiness but in him, you won- der that you continue wounded and miserable, instead of finding the relief at once, which you hoped that penitence would bring. You fear, therefore, that you are not really penitent, though you are almost directly conscious that you are so ; and you sink, overwhelmed with the difficulties of understanding the movements and the condition of your own heart. You feel a burden, and think that it must be the burden of present guilt. But if your heart is really in the condition I have described, it is the burden of responsibility for past sins which hangs over you and bows you down, though your heart is really re- newed, and consequently you are freed, in some degree, from the present power of sin. The remedy is the cross of Christ. Come to it, and see what Jesus has done and suffered for PAJIDON. 193 Come to the Savior. you. Look at the moral effect of this great sacrifice, and feel that it takes off all the necessity of punishment, and all the burden of your guilt. Come and trust to this sacrifice. Seek union with Christ, so as to be one with him, and open your heart to the full admission of his assurance, that you may, through this union, have all past responsibilities ended forever, and that all the blessings which his unfailing obedi- ence and spotless perfection have deserved, may flow in upon you. But oh, remember, if you do thus come and give your- self to your Savior, going free from the bitter fruits of sin, through his sufferings, and expecting to enter your home in heaven, under his protection, and in his name, — remember that giving yourself up to him must not be an empty form. Christ gave himself up for us, not to have us go on in sin, after receiving forgiveness, but to redeem us from all iniquity, and to purify unto himself a peculiar people. If you hope for pardon in this way, you must give up the world and sin entirely, and forever. Henceforth, its allurements and temp- tations must be nothing to you. You must say, in language, which, like a great many other passages occurring in every page of the New Testament, is dark to those who have not experienced its meaning. " I am crucified with Christ, never- theless I live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me ; and the life which I now live in the flesh, I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me." I 194 THE CORNER-STONE. Plan of this work. Analysis of preceding chapters. CHAPTER VII. i THE LAST SUPPER. K I have desired to eat this passover with you, before I suffer." The plan which has been followed in the progress of this work, may not have been very obvious to the reader. It was our design to present the great elementary truths of the religion of the gospel, as they naturally connect themselves with the circumstances of our Savior's history. . We accord- ingly commenced with his childhood, and were led at once into a train of reflection on the nature and the character of that eternal and invisible essence, whose attributes were per- sonified in him. His conduct and character as a man came next before us, then the views of religious duty which he came to urge upon men. The rejection of his message by mankind, the consequences of it, and the way by which these consequences may, in any case, be prevented, naturally fol- lowed, leading us a little way from the immediate history of our Savior. We now return to it, — ready, however, to be led away again, whenever necessary to accomplish the great design of this volume. We have already shown that the great object which the Savior had in view, in the influence which he endeavored to exert over men, was to induce them to repent of sin, and to return to duty ; and not to make them theoretically acquaint- ed with theological truth. He pressed moral obligation upon them, and endeavored to arouse and to enlighten the con- THE LAST SUPPER. 195 The last supper. Jerusalem. science. He did indeed assure them of forgiveness, if they would abandon sin, but he left them in a great measure, to be taught by a future revelation, which was to be made by his Spirit to the apostles, in what way that promised forgive- ness was to be obtained. It was not until after his resurrec- tion that he discoursed freely and plainly, even with his dis- ciples, on this subject. Then indeed he explained the sub- ject to them fully. He showed them that "he ought," that is, that it was necessary for him " to have suffered these things, and to enter into his glory ; and beginning at Moses and all the prophets, he expounded unto them, in all the Scriptures, the things concerning himself." This full disclosure of the nature and objects of his mission was thus not made until after his death. He approached, however, to such a disclosure, in his last sad interview with his disciples, on the night in which he was betrayed. It is to the circumstances and character of this interview, that we have to call the attention of our readers in this chapter Jerusalem was at this time crowded with strangers, so much so that, though the enmi- ty against the Savior had been gathering strength . until it was now ready to burst all barriers, the leaders did not dare to proceed openly against him, for fear of a riot among these multitudes which they should not be able to control. They feared the people, it is said, — JERUSALEM. 196 THE CORNER-STONE. Supposed feelings of the populace. The last passover. for the people Joved to listen to him, and therefore would probably defend him. They greatly misunderstood the human heart. He deserved to be beloved, and they supposed that he would be beloved ; but the very populace whom they so much feared, instead of feeling any disposition to protect their innocent victim, joined the cry against him. Far from giving the enemies of Christ any embarrassment or restraint, the clamor of the populace was the very means of urging the Roman governor to do what his own sense of justice most plainly condemned. At all events the enemies of the Savior thought it wise to proceed with caution, and they were at this time warily lay- ing plots for his life. We shall consider the nature of the plan which they finally formed in the next chapter. It is sufficient here to say, that Jesus knew the whole, and felt that his last hour had nearly come. He had been accustom- ed for some time to speak in public during the day, and at night to go out to rest in the neighboring villages, or to seek retirement and prayer upon the Mount of Olives. His last night had now come. His last public address to men had been delivered. The sun had set for the last time, to him, and nothing now remained but to give his beloved disciples his farewell charge, and then once more to take his midnight walk, and offer his midnight prayer. It was evening ; the evening of a great festive celebration, which for fourteen hundred years had been uninterruptedly observed. Established to commemorate one deliverance, and to typify another very singularly analogous to it, it was in- tended to continue till the Lamb of God should at length be slain. A new and nobler ordinance was then to take its place ; an ordinance of deeper meaning, and higher value, — and of interest not to one small province only, but destined to extend its influence to every nation on the globe. This night, therefore, strictly speaking, was to be celebrated the THE LAST SUPPER. 197 Moral greatness of the occasion. The meeting. last passover. The thousands who crowded the city did not know it ; but Jesus did, and, as he made his preparations foi celebrating it, with his friends, noiselessly and quietly, in their upper chamber, he must have been impressed with the moral greatness of the occasion. A friendless man, perse cuted and defenseless, and doomed to be executed, the next day, as a malefactor, — coming, with his twelve friends, as powerless and unprotected as himself, into their secluded room, there to bring to a close the long series of splendid celebrations which, for fourteen centuries, had been sustained by God's command. Yes : the meeting on that night was the connecting link between the old dispensation and the new. Jesus must have so considered it. Friendless and persecuted as he was, — the whole city thronged with his enemies, — the plot for his destruction matured, and spies out for him, — the very price for his life actually paid, and dan- ger pressing around him so closely that he was obliged to make his arrangements very privately, in order to be sure of an uninterrupted hour, — he yet must have felt that he was bringing the long series of Jewish rites and ceremonies to its termination, and introducing a new dispensation, whose ordinances, of nobler meaning, beginning there, were to spread to every nation, and to last through all time. It is strange that the place chosen for this, too, should be the very heart and center of hostility to his cause. At the appointed hour the few faithful followers of Jesus came together, and as they assembled around the table, their Master felt that he met them for the last time. They felt it too. He told them plainly that his hour had come, and they felt depressed and dejected, looking forward as they did with anxiety and terror to the scenes which were to ensue. They understood but very imperfectly what these scenes were to be, but Jesus himself knew all. They were in the dark, or at least they saw but dimly, but it was all broad 198 THE CORNER-STONE. Anxiety and sadness. The Savior's religious instruction. light to him. As lie looked around upon his little circle of adherents, he could foresee precisely what part each one would take in the approaching solemnities. There was Judas, with the price of his Master's hlood already paid, — there was Peter, who was to ahandon and deny him, — and not one, of all his warmest friends, but would forsake him in the hour of danger, and fly. But he did not think of these things. It was the last time that he was to he with them before his death ; and while he was fully aware that their fortitude could not stand the dreadful trial to which it was soon to be exposed, he did not dwell upon such thoughts. He looked upon them with interest and sympathy, not with anger, — and endeavored to comfort, not to reprove them. He once became agitated in speaking of his betrayal, but composure scon returned. But we must come to the discourse. The peculiar circum- stances under which this meeting was held, distinguish it from every other occasion on which the Savior gave religious instruction. In fact we may almost say it was the first and only occasion on which he gave what may be strictly called religious instruction. He had pressed duty in a thousand forms, before ; — here he exhibited truth. He had on every occasion, — in the house and by the way, — in the thronged city, and before the multitudes assembled in the fields and on the sea-shore, — urged men to repent and forsake their sins ; now he was to exhibit some great tncths more clearly than he had ever done before, to a small and select company, whose hearts had long been preparing to receive them. In the path along which he led the human mind, repentance came first, and theology afterward ; and it would be well if cavil- ing inquirers, at the present day, would follow his example. They should begin by obeying the sermon on the Mount, and then come and listen to the conversation at the last supper. THE LAST SUPPER. 199 He pressed duty first. Nicodemus. Theories of regeneration. There is something most highly interesting and instructive in the manner in which the Savior adapted his communica- tions to the occasions on which they were to be made, and tc the purposes which he endeavored to effect by them. A modern preacher would have carried the metaphysics of theology all over the villages of Galilee, and would have puzzled the woman of Samaria, or the inquiring ruler, with questions about the nature of the Godhead, or the distinction between moral and natural inability. But Jesus • Christ pressed simple duty. His explanations all went to throw light upon the one single distinction, between right and wrong. Even when Nicodemus came to him, the man better qualified, perhaps, than any other one who visited him, for theological discussion, he simply urged upon him the necessity of the great change of heart ; he attempted no explanation of the precise mode by which the heavenly influence could effect it. He pressed the fact, but declined all investigation of the theory. Indeed he pronounced the subject beyond the grasp of our present powers ; and yet, notwithstanding this, human pride and self-conceit have clambered over the barrier which he thus attempted to raise ; and confused, and contradictory, and unintelligible speculations, agreeing in nothing but hostility to one another, — killing the spirit of piety and destroying the peace of the church, have been continually appearing, from that day to this, — a standing and perpetual commentary on the Savior's words, and a most powerful though most melancholy proof of the wisdom which dictated them. But to return to the subject of our Savior's instructions. These instructions, when addressed to the public at large, related to duty, — direct, practical, immediate duty, — and he seemed to love to bring duty to view in ways so clear, and in cases so plain, that no proof but the testimony of conscience within every man's bosom, should be necessary to establish 200 THE CORNER-STONE. Topics now brought forward. Free conversation. Truths adduced his positions. " If any man will do his will he shall know of the doctrine," was his motto, and he acted according to it. The time, however, for instruction had now come, — instruc- tion in the higher truths of religion, — the nature of the Deity, the relation sustained to him hy Jesus Christ, the design and fruits of true religion, remission of past sins through the Redeemer's blood, and the presence and in- fluences of the Holy Spirit as the means of leading men to repentance. These were topics on which the Savior had seldom spoken didactically before, hut now the last oppor- tunity had come, and he opened before those who were to be the future ministers of his religion, new treasures of religious knowledge. He had been the preacher before, — he became the religious teacher now, — and under the guidance of the beloved disciple, who has recorded the conversation, let us go in, to the still* solemn assembly, and hear what he has to say. It was a familiar conference, rather than a formal dis- course. The disciples freely asked questions, and sometimes the conversation ceased to be general, and the individuals of the company talked with one another in separate groups, as they happened to be seated together. The great truths of religion were, however, the subjects of discussion, and nothing could afford higher proof of the genuineness and truth of the description of this interview, than the cautious, hesitating manner in which the leading disciples are repre- sented as asking their questions ; it was in precisely the way, in which new and extraordinary developments of truth are always received by pupils, from a teacher to whom they look up with veneration and respect. But let us look at these truths in detail. 1. He explained to them that he was the great manifesta- tion of the Divinity to men ; and that consequently it was THE LAST SUPPER. 201 Testimony respecting himself. Philip's question. Way to approach the Deity. only through him, that the human mind could find its access to the Divinity. But let us quote his words. I am the way, and the truth, and the life : no man cometh unto the Father but by me. If ye had known me, ye should have known my Father also : and from henceforth ye know him, and have seen him. Philip saith unto him, Lord show us the Father, and it sufficeth us. Jesus saith unto him, Have I been so long time with you, and yet hast thou not known me, Philip ? he that hath seen me, hath seen the Father ; and how sayest thou then, Show us the Father ? Believest thou not that I am in the Father, and the Father in me ? the words that I speak unto you, I speak not of myself; but the Father that dwelleth in me, he doeth the works. Believe me that I am in the Father, and the Father in me : or else believe me for the very words' sake.* The human mind still repeats Philip's very natural re- quest. " Show us the Father." It reaches forward for some vision of the divinity, — the great unseen and inconceivable essence, which pervades all space, and exists through all time ; and it often decks out for itself, as we have shown in the preceding chapter, a gorgeous image, with crown and scepter and throne, which reason tells them can not exist, and which if it did exist, would be a splendid idol, not God. How many Christians bow to such an image, which their imagina- tion has made ; — an idol more vain, in fact, than those of stocks and stones, — for they at least have substance, while this is but a phantom of the mind. No. Jesus Christ is the personification of the Divinity for us ; the brightness of his * John xiv. 6-11. 202 THE CORNER-STONE. Mora] dependence. Ye have not chosen me. glory and the express image of his person, and it is by him alone that we are to find our way to the great power which reigns over us all. Believe this, said the Savior, on my assurance, or else believe it on account of the powers which you see that I possess, and the works I do. 2. He taught them that divine influence upon the hearts of men was essential to their repentance and salvation. " Ye have not chosen me," said he, — " I have chosen you." What a declaration ! How solitary it makes the Savior in the world which he had come to redeem. More than thirty years he had spent here, doing good continually, and pro- claiming offers of reconciliation and pardon ; and now on the last night of his life, surrounded by inveterate foes, already actually sold to them, and with but a few hours of liberty remaining, — he gathers privately his friends, that he may have one last sad interview with them ; and here he had to reflect that even these his twelve friends, among ten thousand enemies, had not cfiosen him ; — he had chosen them. He stood alone, after all ; the only example of independent, original holiness. The universal reign of ungodliness and sin had been broken only where he had chosen individuals to be saved, and trained them, by his own power, to moral fruitfulness and beauty. " Ye have not chosen me, but I have chosen you." How much it means ! How many lessons we may, by a most direct and rigid inference, draw from it ! How lofty the moral courage which led him to say it ! Another man, in such a case, would have strengthened the attachment of the few who remained true to him, at such an hour, by praising their generous fidelity in adhering to their chosen friend. But Jesus, as if loving the solitary grandeur of the position in which he stood, with all the world against him except these twelve, gently withdraws himself even from these, " Ye THE LAST SUPPER. 203 The vine and the branches. Union with Christ. The Comforter. have not chosen, me, but I have chosen you, One of you will betray me, another will repeatedly deny that he is my friend, and in the course of this night, when the hour of real danger shall come, every one of you will be scattered, and will leave me alone." Solitary sufferer ! how wide a distance separated thy lofty powers, and original and stable virtue, from the weak and frail and cultivated attachment of thy trembling friends ! The Savior brought to view, in many other forms, the de- pendence of his disciples, for all the moral excellence which they could ever hope to possess, upon their union with him. " I am the true vine, and my Father is the husbandman." " Every branch in me that beareth not fruit he taketh away ; and eveiy branch that beareth fruit he purgeth, that it may bear more fruit." " Now ye are clean through the word which I have spoken unto you." " Abide in me and I in you. As the branch can not bear fruit of itself except it abide in the vine, no more can ye ex- cept ye abide in me." It was as if he had said, You have no spiritual life origi- nating in yourselves and existing independently. You depend on me. It is by divine power exercised upon you, by means of your union with me, that your hearts are to be purified. Without this union you will be nothing. He spoke to them of the Comforter, also, alluding again and again to this promised influence from above ; saying first that he would send him from the Father, and again that the Father would send him in his, the Savior's, name. This Comforter, the Holy Spirit, was to enlighten their minds, and comfort their hearts, and above all was to bring effectually to the hearts and consciences of men, those great truths which he himself had preached to the ear in vain. The 204 THE CORNER-STONE. His work upon human hearts. The disciple's question. three great subjects which the Spirit was to press upon the attention of mankind were pointed out. Human guilt, hu- man duty, and a judgment to come. " He shall reprove the world of sin and of righteousness ;" of righteousness and of sin, some theologians would say, reversing the order, — think- ing that in a logical arrangement, right should come before wrong. But no ; the Savior's view is far more true to na- ture and to fact. The Holy Spirit when it comes to men, finds them debased and depraved, — and righteousness, if it finds a place in human hearts at all, must be preceded by conviction of sin. To produce this conviction, and then to awaken penitence and love, and to keep alive a sense of obligation and accountability, is the work which this heav- enly visitor comes to do. The necessity of an interposition from Heaven to turn men away from their sins, and to bring them to repentance, had been often alluded to by our Savior before. But the truth stands out with uncommon clearness and prominence in these his last instructions. His pupils did not at once fully under- stand it. Nay, who, we may ask, understands it now ? " He that loveth me shall be loved of my Father, and I will love him and manifest myself to him." " How," asked one of the disciples, " how is it that thou wilt manifest thyself unto us, and not unto the ivorld ?.'•' " If a man love me," was the reply, " he will keep my words, and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him and make our abode with him." It is no wonder that, with their imperfect ideas of the true character of their master, and of the relation which he sus- tained to the Divinity, they asked the question, how he could manifest himself to them and not to the world ; — and how strange must his reply have seemed to them, if they supposed it came from a man like themselves. God and I will come THE LAST SUPPER. 205 Eternal life a gift. God's claim often resisted. and dwell with the good ! What language, — if a mere mor- tal man had uttered it. It is most interesting to observe how, in this whole con- versation, the thoughts of the Savior seem constantly to dwell on this great truth, — the moral dependence of the human heart on God. It comes up in various forms, again and again, as if it were a truth which his mind dwelt upon, and con- tinually recurred to with pleasure. Even in his prayer, it is most strongly expressed, and almost in the first words that he uttered. " As thou hast given him power over all flesh" — what sort of power ? we ask : — the answer follows ; — " that he should give eternal life, to as many as thou hast given him." And what is meant here by eternal life ? holiness itself, or the reward of holiness ? " And this is eternal life," the Savior proceeds, " that they might knoiv thee, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom thou hast sent." The knowledge of God, and of Jesus Christ his Son, is a gift from the Deity to men ; and it is Jesus Christ himself who be- stows it. The heart which is still unsubdued, is restless and dissatis- fied, under the claim which God thus asserts to all the praise which human holiness deserves. But the soul which is really penitent and humble finds its greatest happiness in feeling and acknowledging it. Religion is submission to God ; and the feeling of submission and the sense of dependence are called for more imperiously in reference to our moral and spiritual wants than to any other. There is in fact no moral or spiritual safety without these feelings, and our Savior knew this full well. There is scarcely any subject which he brought more continually to view. On this occasion he ex- pressed the sentiment again and again, in various forms ; or rather expressions seemed spontaneously to flow from his lips, recognizing the truth as if it were one which he dwelt upon with continual pleasure. 206 THE CORNER-STONE. The happiness of yielding to it. Feeling of dependence safe : happy. The feeling which prompted this is one which every true Christian can understand. The highest emotion of enjoy- ment which the renewed heart can feel is perhaps this sense of entire, unqualified, unconditional submission to God. The word submission does not however precisely express the feel- ing. It is the sense of being entirely and altogether in God's hands and at God's disposal, — in every respect, — for life, health, prosperity, character, heart, every thing. It is when this feeling has most complete and unbroken ascendency in the mind that the soul attains its highest position, and enjoys its purest happiness. Theoretical reasoning on the subject might lead us to suppose that such a feeling would diminish the sense of responsibility, and throw the soul off its guard, and leave it exposed to temptation, by its trusting thus its moral keeping to another. But no ; it is not so in fact. The heart which lies most submissive in its Maker's hands, and trusts most entirely to his protection, is the one which is most alive to the guilt and dangers of sin, and most sensitive and shrinking in respect to the slightest contamination. The higher are its ideas of its own moral helplessness, the firmer is the ground on which it stands. When it is weak, then it is strong. Christian philosophy has been sadly perplexed to explain the theory of moral agency, and the nature of the divine control over human hearts ; but Christian experience settles all questions about the fact ; and the penitent and humbled soul, that is willing to leave the whole field of worldly influences and all the speculations of human science, and go on alone after God, will, in the depths of its own ex- perience, be led to views of the extent of this control which can never be forced by argument upon those who have not acquired them by their own spiritual vision. The temple of religious experience has all its magnificence and all its gran deur within ; and they who have found their way into the inner apartments, and have actually gazed upon the solemn THE LAST SUPPER. 207 Keligious experience. Trust in God. Physical danger. splendor that is there, can understand and sympathize with one another ; while they who stand without can never be convinced, by argument or description, of what they can not see. Jesus Christ did not attempt to produce such convic- tion. He adapted his discourse to the degree of progress which they who heard it had made. He did not stand argu- ing without, but led his followers in, and pointed out the sublimer truths, and the loftier sentiments of religion, only as fast as they could see and feel them. We have seen that the feeling which seemed so to fill the Savior's heart on this occasion, the entire spiritual depend- ence of the human soul on GJ-od, is a safe feeling ; it is also a most happy one. A sense of dependence, and confidence in promised protection, are delightful emotions to hearts constituted as ours are. This is true in regard to physical dangers. When the dark heavy clouds gather in the western sky, at the close of a sultry summer's day, and flashes of lightning are seen, and heavy rolling thunder seems to convulse the sky, the Christian father betakes him self to his sheltered home, and gathers his family around him, and loves to come and lay the whole precious trust into his Maker's hands. If his heart is right, it will be a happy hour to him. He has done all that he can do, and there is already over him whatever protection human art can raise against the rain and hail, and the tempestuous wind and fatal lightning, and all the dangers of the midnight storm ; but his happiness consists in forgetting all such protection, and coming to place himself and all that are dear to him under the mighty hand of God, confiding in him and him alone. He knows that he can trust to nothing beside. There is a roof over him, but one blast of the tempest might scatter it to fragments. His walls a single bolt from heaven might rend asunder, and his whole dwelling in a moment burst into flame. He knows all this ; and it is his 208 THE CORXER-STOXE. The safe refuge. Other truths. Evidences of piety. happiness to feel that though he has done all that he can do, he must trust in God for safety, and in G-od alone. It is exactly so with his spiritual protection. He will do all that he can do, but he never will consider his prayers and resolutions and watchfulness, as his real defense against temptation and sin. No ; he takes delight in feel- ing that, in respect to moral protection, too, his trust is wholly in God ; and this feeling, that he is spiritually in his Maker's hands, is not only his greatest safety, — it is his highest hap- piness. The soul, too, comes to this feeling in all the trying scenes, and solemn occasions of life, with peculiar pleasure. It flies to it as to a refuge, and enjoys its refreshing influence when nothing else would sustain or console. Our Savior seems scarcely ever to have thought of it so much, and to have impressed it so strongly and so repeatedly upon his disciples, as in this last sad scene. But let us proceed to consider some of the other topics which Jesus brought before his disciples on this occasion. As we go on, the reader will be struck at the selection that he made. The great fundamental truths of religion seemed to rise before him and occupy his view. His conversation was, in fact, a dis- course on the theology of the gospel, bringing out its great fea- tures, and holding them up prominently to view. It has not the formal arrangement of a scholastic discourse, but the truths are all there expressed ; and the nature of the views thus pre- sented, — truths so lofty and so profound,— contributes, quite as much, perhaps, as the affecting circumstances of the occasion, to give to the whole description that air of majestic and affect- ing solemnity, which is not equaled by any other passage, even in the Bible. But let us proceed to consider the re- maining topics. 3. He taught them that the true evidences of piety are its fruits ; a truth of winch it seems more difficult to convince mankind than of almost anv other. Nobody denies it in THE LAST SUPrER. 209 Fmita. Common errors. Two errors. words, but very few really believe it in fact. We are always substituting something else in the place of these fruits. It seems as if the Savior felt that now, as he was about to leave his disciples to carry on his work alone, they would be peculiarly exposed to danger from this source, and he ac- cordingly pressed upon them again and again attention to it. " By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another." "If ye love me, keep my com- mandments." " He that hath my commandments and keep- eth them, he it is that loveth me." "If a man love me, he will keep my words." " Herein is my Father glorified, that ye bear much fruit, so shall ye be my disciples." Such expressions were continually occurring in his discourse ; and if we consider, what was unquestionably the fact, that the record of John contains only a brief summary of the remarks which the Savior made, we shall be convinced that he urged this subject very emphatically and fully, upon the attention of his disciples. The church i|, however, very slow to learn the lesson. We err in two ways, sometimes by placing something else entirely, in the stead of fruits, as evidences of piety, and some- times on the other hand, by mistaking the nature of the fruits which are to be regarded as evidence. We do this continu- ally ; and probably when the day of real trial shall come, the whole church will be overwhelmed with astonishment to find at last what an immense amount of hollow and hypocritical pretensions, merely, will be found under her banner. In fact, the evidence which is perhaps mainly relied upon here, in determining the attitude in which a man stands, in respect to Christian character, is almost altogether different from that pointed out by the Savior. Bold assurance of profession, and religious party spirit, rank very high among the commonly received evidences of piety. If a man talks confidently of his change, and expresses deep interest in the duties of his 210 THE CORNER-STONE. Abundance of talk. Party spirit in religion. Its nature. new service, and if the language of the Christian comes flu- ently from ihe tongue, we are slow to suspect insincerity. In many such cases the very profusion of professions might lead us to withhold our confidence. Empty profession is generally loquacious, while sincere and devoted attachment, is strong and deep in the heart, but its words are few. " Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh," the reader will say. True, it speaks out of the abundance, and yet it says but little. There is abundance of feeling but not of words. Party spirit in religion is another spurious proof of piety. The victim of it seems to be entirely devoted to the cause of Christ ; he feels indeed a strong interest in that cause, and he makes continual effort and submits to great sacrifices to pro- mote it. But the real fruits of piety do not reign in his heart, and if he were not spiritually blind, he would see that his zeal is party spirit, almost entirely ; — that is, an interest in the aggrandizement of an organization as such, of which he has become a constituent part. Whenever men act together, the mind, by the action of one of its mysterious powers, sees a new being in the union, and soon forms almost a personal attachment to it. It enlists men's pride and ambition, and arouses all their energies ; and devotion to this imaginary existence becomes often one of the strongest passions of the human mind. It is one of the sins to which the human heart is most prone, and in which it is most impregnable. A man usually thinks it a virtue. He sees that he is not working for himself, and he persuades himself that it is the •principles of his party which are the object of his attach- ment. But this is not the case, for when these principles spread partially into other parties he is always displeased. He is never satisfied at seeing his opponents coming to the truth, — they must come over to his side. This is party spirit, and the humble and devoted Christian THE LAST SUPPER. 211 Its spirit. True fruits of piety. The catalogue. Love. Joy. who really loves his Master, finds it constantly insinuating itself into his heart, and acting as the motive of a very large proportion of his labors in the service of his Master. The tests by which this spirit can be detected we have not time now to describe ; but it burns everywhere in the Christian church, it influences parish against parish, and society against society, and makes each denomination jealous and suspicious of the rest. It frowns upon the truth and the Christian pros- perity which is not found within its own pale. It is the spirit of intolerance and exclusion. "We found one," it says, " casting out devils in thy name, and we forbade him, because he folloiueth not us." Banish this spirit forever. If men will cast out devils, no matter whom they follow ; they must do it, if they do it at all, in Jesus' s name, and no matter for the rest. We must not frown upon real piety or truth, because they do not appear in our own uniform ; but then, on the other hand, we must never confound truth with error, nor admit the pretensions of any specious counterfeit which may assume the name and form of piety, while it is without its power. But what are the real fruits of piety ? the reader may ask. The apostle has given the catalogue. They are char- acteristics of the heart, not of the external conduct. They are these : Love. The heart that is renewed experiences an entire change in respect to its great ruling principles of action. In- stead of being swayed by the impulses of selfishness and pas- sion, its affections go forth and rest upon God as their supreme- object, and link themselves also by indissoluble bonds with every other being who is joined in heart to him. These new emotions have henceforth the control. Joy. The prevalence of universal love will go very far toward producing universal enjoyment. Love is happiness, and it brings happiness in every form ; and true piety will 212 THE CORNER-STONE Peace. Long-suffering. Gentleness. Goodness. find sources of pleasure which sin never knows. Where there is moroseness or melancholy, there must be something wrong. It may be moral or physical disease, but it must be one or the other. Peace. Peace within the heart itself, and peace with others. Selfishness is keenly alive to its own rights, and keenly sensitive to injuries : and where each seeks mainly his own, there must be collision. Piety quiets animosities and strifes, by destroying the value of the objects of conten- tion. It points men to new sources of happiness ; and these new sources are such as can be enjoyed most perfectly when others share them. The heart that is renewed is at peace, too, within itself. Its irritating passions and corroding cares are all allayed, and the soul is like a summer's sea, serene and placid, — the storms of passion hushed, and the golden beams of the sun of righteousness reposing tranquilly upon it. Long- Suffering. The true Christian feels that he is himself forgiven, and consequently in his dealings with other wrong-doers he bears long and is kind. He looks upon sin with a feeling of compassion for the offender, and remembers the burning from which he himself was saved. The heart- less pretender can, in public, assume this language ; but when off his guard at home, or in his counting-room, or field, his hasty words and impatient and angry looks often betray the spirit which reigns in his heart. Gentleness. The Christian feels that his great business in life is to lead hearts to the Savior : and hearts, if led at all, must be led gently. The hollow-hearted pretender will attempt to drive. Harsh, repulsive and tyrannical, he shows that he has not experienced the grace of God ; for that al- ways softens asperities, and smooths the roughness with which selfishness is so often clothed. Goodness. The renewed heart feels a benevolent interest in the welfare of every sentient being. It desires universal THE LAST SUPPER. 21; Faith. Meekness. Temperance. happiness, and springs, with an ever ready alacrity, to pro- duce it, wherever Providence shall present the opportunity. The great public effort, the generous donation, the open deed of charity, may be the result of pride, or ostentation, or party spirit ; but real Christian benignity shows itself in all the thousand nameless occasions where a word or a look or a trifling action may give pleasure. It shows itself in great efforts too ; but the highest proof of its existence and its power, is its continued, and universal, and spontaneous ac- tion. Faith. True piety believes what God declares, and trusts to it too. It sees heavenly realities, and feels their influence continually. It trusts in God's care, realizing that every mercy is his gift, and bowing submissively to affliction and trial. Hypocrisy is sound in its theoretical views, but it re- pines at losses, — or stands restless and uneasy over the cradle of a sick child, — or proves by the manner in which it pursues this world, that it has no faith in God's promises about the happiness of another. Meekness. The sincere Christian is humble in respect to himself, and indulgent and mild toward others. Having some conceptions of the deceitful wickedness of his own heart, he looks upon the worst of men as brother sinners. The hypocrite can not see his own pollution and guilt, and is consequently haughty, censorious, and uncharitable in respect to the failings of his fellow-men. Temperance. The worldly enjoyments of the sincere dis- ciple are in all respects regulated by Christian principles. The regulator, existing in the heart, acts always, and with steady consistency. Hypocrisy restrains those indulgences which men would see and condemn, but she rewards herself for her venal virtue by the freedom of her secret sins. Such are the fruits of piety, as enumerated by an inspired apostle. It was such fruits as these that our Savior had in 214 THE CORNER-STONE. Other occurrences at the interview. The Lord's supper. view. He charged his disciples, again and again, to look for these as the only evidences that human professions of love to him were really sincere. We have thus considered the three great truths which stand out most prominently in the instructions of this occa- sion. There were, however, various other topics discussed, and various incidents likewise occurred, which it does not comport with our present purpose to describe. There are many considerations which it would he highly interesting to present, such as the perfect frankness with which Jesus fore- told the dangers and sufferings which his disciples were about to incur in his cause ; the frequency and earnestness with which he pressed upon them the promised efficacy of prayer, sometimes saying that he, and sometimes that the Father would grant their requests ; and the manner in which he presented to them the comforts and consolations of religion, as their refuge and solace in their future trials. These things, however, we can not dwell upon now. At the close of the interview the Savior established the great Christian ordinance which has been celebrated in com- memoration of his death in every age, without interruption, from that day to this. The circumstances under which the or- dinance was established teach us a lesson, as we have already briefly said in a preceding chapter, in regard to the manner in which our Savior regarded forms and ceremonies, which his followers have in all ages been very prone to forget. It is not that they overrate the importance of external religious observances, but that they forget what it is upon which their importance and value entirely depend, — namely, their spirit- ual meaning, and the feelings of heart with which they are performed. It was one great object of the Savior's preaching to call the attention of men from outward actions to inward char- THE LAST SUITER. 216 The Savior's view of ceremonies. Forms and feelings. Baptism. acter, and the manner in which he instituted this last solemn ceremony is precisely in keeping with the whole tenor of his public instructions. There is no formal ceremonious prepa- ration for it ; there are no studied arrangements and no cau- tions prescription of mode and form ; but when the time arrives for his last farewell, he merely sets apart, in the most simple manner, his last solemn act of intercourse with his disciples, as a perpetual memorial of his death ; — and he does it too in such a way as most effectually to fix their minds upon its moral meaning, — its spiritual effect. He did not devise any new ceremony for the purpose, but only paused upon a portion of the solemn transaction in which he wag last engaged, and consecrated that. He did it too in lan- guage so brief and general as to show that moral impression, not ceremonial exactness, was what he had in view in look- ing forward to future celebrations of the ordinance, by his followers in ages to come. " Take these," says he, as he offers them the bread which had been placed upon the table for another purpose, and poured out another cup of their simple wine. " Take these as emblems of my sufferings and death, incurred for the remission of your sins, and henceforth do this in remembrance of me. As often as you do it, you do -show forth the Lord's death until he come." The Savior acted evidently upon the same principles in regard to the other great ceremony of the Christian religion. He wished for some mode by which an open profession of at- tachment to him might be made ; and he just adopts the one already in use, for such a purpose. He did not contrive baptism, as a mode of publicly professing piety, — he merely adopted it, formed already, as it was, to his hands. The people were accustomed to it. Their associations were al- ready formed in connection with it, and this rendered it con« venient for immediate adoption. He would probably have taken any other form had any other been more convenient 216 THE CORNER-STONE. Tho rainbow. Ceremonies symbolical. and common. The one chosen is indeed highly appropriate ; denoting so clearly the inward purification which the open profession of faith in Christ and of adhesion to his cause should always bring with it ; but it is the sincerity with which it is performed, not the appropriateness of its char- acter, which gives it all its value. Such is the origin then of the ceremonies of the Christian faith. For a mode of admission to his church, the Savior simply takes the ordinary sign of religious profession among the people with whom he lived ; and in the selection of a ceremony to commemorate his sufferings and death, and to be, in all ages and in every land, a perpetual memorial of the most momentous transaction which ever occurred, he simply pauses a moment upon the last act which he perform- ed in the presence of his friends, — an act most solemnly sig- nificant, it is true, — and consecrates that to the great purpose which he had in view. - It reminds us of a transaction which occurred twenty-five centuries before, when Jehovah, after the 'flood, wishing to quiet the fears which future clouds and storms might awaken among his children, just takes the rain- bow, the object most obvious on the occasion when it' is wanted, as the token of his promised protection. In nothing more strikingly than in this, are false religions distinguishable from true. The former are yielding and flexible as to prin- ciples, but minute in the specification of forms, and unbend- ing in the exaction of obedience. The latter makes moral principle the rock, unmoved and immovable though heaven and earth should pass away ; but when it comes to signs and ceremonies it is liberal in the extreme. The ordinances of the gospel are indeed appropriate and symbolical, but they are no more so than a thousand others would have been, which, under different circumstances, it would have been quite as convenient to adopt. The ceremony of admission to the church would have had as much meaning if it had con- THE LAST SUPPER. 217 Monuments. A contrast. The pyramids and the Lord's supper. sisted simply in holding up the hands to heaven, or appearing in a white robe, the emblem of purity, or in making the sign of the cross upon the forehead. And yet there is something in the simple act which Jesus Christ consecrated as a memorial of him, which renders it admirably adapted to its purpose. Other persons have gen- erally endeavored to perpetuate their memory by leaving some magnificent monument behind them. One of the most striking exhibitions that human beings make of the mysteri- ous principles of their nature, is, by their desperate struggles to keep a place for their names upon the earth, after they have themselves gone beneath the ground. One founds a city ; another, at a vast expense, erects a mausoleum, and a third stamps his effigy upon a medal or a coin. But Jesus Christ understood human nature better. He used no marble, or brass, or iron, — he laid no deep foundations, and reared no lofty columns. When he bade the world farewell, he simply asked his friends occasionally to. 'perform one simple act in remembrance of him. He was wiser than the builders of the pyramids. A hun- dred thousand men, if ancient story be true, were employed by one monarch, for twenty years, in rearing the pile which was to perpetuate his memory. The Savior accomplished this end far more effectually by a few parting words. Yes; Jesus Christ left us as a memorial, not a magnifi- cent thing to be looked at, but a very simple thing to be done ; and the influence, in keeping the remembrance of the Savior before the minds of men, which the simple ceremony has exerted, for eighteen centuries, and which it still exerts, shows the wisdom of the plan. Its very simplicity, too, is the means of rendering it, to a considerable extent, a test of the sincerity of professed attachment to the Savior ; for the ceremony can not long continue in its simplicity, unless such attachment sustains it. When love is gone, it becomes un- K 218 THE CORNER-STONE. Test of sincerity. Exact obedience. meaning, and from its very nature there is nothing but its meaning to give it interest among men. When the heart ceases to be in it, then there is but one alternative, — it must lose its whole value, and ultimately be abandoned, or else pomp and parade must come in, to supply the interest which grateful recollection ought to give. It has accordingly in some cases been converted into pomp and parade, and in others gradually lost its interest and disappeared. But with these dangers on every side, the institution has still lived and nourished, and its observance is gradually spreading to every nation on the globe. We have already, once or twice, alluded to the manner in which our Savior selected and established the ceremonies of our religion, as evidence of the manner in which he regarded them, namely, as means, valuable only on account of their conduciveness to an end ; — and that end, too, a moral, not a ceremonial one. This consideration is important to us now, because it affects the degree of strictness with which we ob- serve these institutions in their precise form. If the cere- monies had been valuable on their own account, if there had been any intrinsic efficacy in them, and if, in consequence of this, their details had been minutely prescribed, they should have been observed with the most precise and scrupulous ac- curacy. If, on the other hand, they are solely valuable on account of their moral expression, so to speak, then such precise and scrupulous accuracy is not necessary. There ought, certainly, to be no deviations without sufficient cause, in either case ; but a cause which would abundantly justify deviation in the latter, would not justify it in the former. If for instance a father, on leaving home, gives directions that a sick child should take a certain medicine at seven o'clock in the evening, to be followed two hours afterward with bathing, in water prepared in a prescribed way, it would be the duty of those loft in charge to be precise in THE LAST SUPPER, 219 The father's two directions. Principles of compliance. THE DIRECTIONS. compliance. The effi- cacy is in the things to be done, not in their moral effect, and con- sequently the things must be done exactly. On the other hand, suppose that he re- quested his family to assemble at a certain window, where they had often sat with him every Saturday even- ing, at seven o'clock, to sing a hymn which he had written and taught them. Here the object is of a different kind altogether. The directions are just as pre- cise, but the common sense of every family would make a distinc tion between the degree of exact precision necessary in com- pliance. If, on some evening, company should chance to be present and should protract their stay beyond the time as- signed, they would assemble to sing their hymn of remem- brance half an hour later. But company would not' have led them to postpone administering the medicine beyond the appointed time. So if the room assigned for the meeting were, on some evening, cold and uncomfortable, they would not hesitate to assemble around the fire in another apartment instead of that ; or if the mother were sick and confined to her chamber, on one of the Saturday evenings during the father's absence, they would gather around her bed to sing their hymn. They would, however, by no means be led to deviate so easily from the precise directions in the other case. Thev would not perhaps be able to point out to one anothei 220 THE CORNEFw-STONE. Ceremonies of false and true religions. Meaning of ' Do thin.' the philosophical grounds of the distinction, but there would be an immediate and spontaneous perception of it, and its in- fluence upon their practice would be decisive. Now the ceremonies of all false religions are of the kind represented by the former of the above suppositions ; that is, rather of the former than the latter. Their value does not consist in their moral expression, but in their supposed intrin- sic efficacy. The Hindoo bathes in the Ganges, and the Mussulman mutters his prayers, with a view to the efficacy of the ceremony itself. This efficacy is all imaginary, we admit, — still it is with a view to it that he acts, and conse- quently he must be precise and punctilious as to forms. True religion makes use of outward rites for a different purpose ; it is in their meaning, and in the feelings of the heart with which they are performed that all their power resides, and we are consequently, in our observance of them, held to far less punctilious exactness as to forms. The vague and gen- eral terms in which these rites were instituted show, as we have already- once or twice remarked, that this is the view which our Savior took of them. " Do this in remembrance of me." What is meant by doing this ? "What is this, precisely ? How much is included in it ? Does it mean, Eat and drink, in remembrance of me, or Eat bread and drink ivine, or Eat bread and drink ivine, together, or Eat bread and drink ivine together after a supper ? I might go on thus indefinitely, adding circumstance after circum- stance, and inquire how many of all are meant to be included in the phrase " Do this." The general practice of Chris- tians has decided to stop at the third of the above steps, that is, Doing this, means Eat bread and drink wine, together, in remembrance of me ; but they would probably find it diffi- cult to show why they imitate the Savior's example in re- spect to the nature of the food, and to partaking of it in an assembly of Christians, and not in the many other circum- THE LAST SUITER. 221 Circumstances excluded. Principles. Moral effect to be secured. stances which were a part of the transaction then, but are not so now. It was in the night, — females were excluded, — there was a supper before the ceremony, — and this supper was an annual festival. By common consent we exclude all these circumstances, in interpreting the phrase "Do this." I have said it would be difficult to show why we go just so far as we do, and no farther, in interpreting the language : I mean it would be difficult to find grounds for precisely the selection which has by common consent been made, in any thing which was actually said and done oil the occasion. But by taking the views of the nature and design of religious rites which are presented above, the case is clear. The moral meaning and the moral influence of the ceremony being all that are essential, we are regulated by them, in regard to the degree of precision with which we follow the example set us. So far as is convenient, and only so far, we conform in re- spect to the food ; so as not unnecessarily to vary from the original circumstances. We come together to celebrate the ordinance ; for the assembling of Christians for the purpose, is a circumstance which contributes to the moral effect. We admit females, for the same reason. We do not insist on its being after a supper, nor at an annual festival, nor in the night, nor in an upper chamber, for all these, though doubt- less they were the circumstances under which the institution was established, have no share in the production of the effect. The whole Christian world most evidently takes this view of the ordinance, in practice ; and our Savior would undoubt- edly have been more precise and specific in his directions, if he had intended that we should take any other view. I have dwelt, perhaps, longer on this subject than many readers will think necessary, because it is one, they will say, on which there is no dispute. This is the very reason why I have made it the occasion of presenting what, it seems to me is the true view of the ceremonial aspects of Christianity 222 THE CORNER-STONE. No dispute on this subject. Principles universally applicable. Formalists. The principles, which, appear clear and plain here, because the mind can look at them uninfluenced by any bias, are uni- versally applicable, and it is of immense consequence that every mind which is shaping its views of religious truth should entertain right views here. There are formalists in all denominations of Christians, and perhaps quite as many in those which, in theory, are most decided in their rejection of forms. As society advances, and as new denominations arise, new religious customs gradually grow up, established first by a few leading Christians, and acquiring, in process of years, a very strong ascendency over the mind. There is no harm in this, if it is always borne in mind, that these are all means, not ends, and that moral effect on the heart and life is the only object which is ultimately valuable. There is a great tendency in the human mind to forget this, and to substitute the sign for the thing signified, — to rest upon the mere form, — and to attach that importance to a precise compliance with the circumstances of its original institution, which belongs only to the moral power which it should exert over the heart. By feeling and acting thus, we leave the spirit of Christian ity, and approach toward the practices and feelings of pagan superstition, where form is all, and spirituality nothing. We go to different lengths in this approximation toward pagan- ism ; and in some cases the whole journey is made, and the professing Christian, in the frigid formality of his observances, Eeems to come out almost entirely upon the pagan ground. The reader will, very probably, charge such a fault, however, upon other denominations, not upon his own ; but there is unfortunately no monopoly of this sin. Where it would be perhaps least expected, it sometimes most decidedly ap'pears. Many a congregationalist attends his private meeting, or stands up to hear an extemporaneous prayer with as much of the spirit of the formalist as ever a Catholic felt when counting his beads, or burning candles before the picture of the "Virgin. THE LAST SUPPER. 223 So denomination free. Liberality. Difference of opinion unavoidable. Substituting the forms for the spirit of Christianity, is one of the inveterate and universal habits of the human soul ; — in- terwoven with all its feelings, and as difficult to be eradicated as any one. Its action is less appare?it in those denomina- tions whose modes of government and of worship are not precisely arranged, but it is not less real ; — and how much less common it is, is perhaps more doubtful than is generally supposed. Understand then, Christian, what is the true nature and design of a religious ceremony, — whether it was instituted by Christ, or one which has gradually grown up as a relig- ous custom, in the denomination with which you are con- nected. Consider well that its whole value, and its whole power, consist in its spiritual effect on the heart and con- science. See that you secure this spiritual effect, and never surrender your heart to the deadening influence of scrupulous attachment to mere external ceremony. There is one error on this subject into which we are very likely to fall, and of which we are more especially in danger, in proportion as we more fully adopt the views above pre- sented. The danger is this, that we shall pertinaciously in- sist that other Christians, and other denominations particu- larly, shall come precisely to our standard in regard to this subject. Now, since our Savior left his directions so general, there must inevitably be a difference of opinion among Chris- tians, in regard to the precision with which we must imitate the circumstances of the first establishment of these cere- monies ; in fact, it is not improbable that the different cir- cumstances and relations of society render some variety de- sirable. Now, each body of Christians is bound to act according to its own ideas of the Savior's wishes, and the rest ought not to complain. Suppose, for example, a Christian church were to come to the conclusion that they ought to make use of the wine of Palestine for the ordinance of the 224 THE CORNER-STONE Case supposed. Wine of Palestine. Each church not judge for itself. Lord's supper. They are honest in this opinion, we will sup pose, and at a considerable expense send to Palestine and procure a supply, and always make use of it at their com- munion seasons. We suppose them to be mistaken, — yet still they are honest, and really believe that the Savior in- tended that they should comply, in this particular, with his example. They gather therefore quietly by themselves, and celebrate the supper according to their own views of the requisition of their Lord. Of course, it must be their opinion that other churches are not fully complying with the com- mand, and they must say so ; and though they may admit that the members of other churches are sincere and devoted Chris- tians, they can not consider them as performing aright their official duty. Now what, most plainly, is the duty of other churches in such a case ? Why, to leave these their brethren unmolested and in peace at their own communion table, to comply with the directions of their Lord according to their own understanding of them ; to do this pleasantly and good- humoredly, too, without any taunts and reproaches about their uncharitableness, and censoriousness, and closeness of communion. In the same manner, if one denomination supposes some circumstances in the mode of ordaining pastors, or admitting members to the churches, or some views of Christian duty, to be essential, while they are not so regarded by others, what ought the others to do ? Why, simply to allow these breth- ren to pursue their own course, unmolested and in peace. They are bound to act according to their own views of the wishes of the Savior. If they do honestly consider that cer- tain conditions with which you have not complied, are essen- tial to a proper celebration of the Lord's supper, they can not consistently, however much they may esteem your piety, ad- mit you to their table until you have complied with them, You ought not then, in such a case, to stand knocking at the THE LAST SUPPER. 225 Modes of ordination. Admission to the church. True intolerance, door and demanding entrance ; — you ought to go quietly and spread a table for yourselves. They do not prevent it. They simply say, our views and yours differ as to what in this point is essential ; — we must be governed by our convictions, — therefore in this point, and in this only, we must separate. In the same manner, if a class of Christians think that a certain mode of ordination is the only valid one, or that cer- tain views of religious truth are essential, they can not of course include those who differ from them in these respects in the circle of official ministerial intercourse. There is no bigotry or intolerance in this. There is certainly no bigotry or intolerance in a man's doing what he himself thinks is right, if he does not molest his neighbors, or prevent, by other means than moral ones, their doing what they think right. jNTor is there any, in a church's confining its official measures strictly to the field which is marked out by its views of of- ficial duty. The world is wide enough for the other churches to act freely according to their ideas. No ; the intolerance and bigotry is all on the other side. It is not in the quiet firmness with which a church guards its doors according to its own conscientious ideas of duty, but it is in the loud vocif- erations of the crowd which has assembled without, demand- ing admittance as a right. If there was but one communion table, and but one pulpit in the world, the majority in pos- session should indeed be careful whom they excluded ; and if the disciples of Christ were, or ought to be, united into one great denomination, they who should obtain the control of its measures, would rest under a most fearful responsibility. But this the Savior undoubtedly never intended. He made no arrangement for such an organization, and did not com- mand it. In carrying out his principles, and in extending them throughout the globe, Christians unite themselves in companies, and link themselves together by ties, just as they 226 THE CORNER-STONE. Practical application. Weak and sickly Christians. Directions. please ; and each, band must be governed by its own views of truth and duty, and ought to be left without molestation by the rest. We may endeavor to alter, by argument, the views themselves, but we must not complain that the con- duct is governed by them, as long as they are really enter- tained ; nor load with opprobrious epithets those whose views of church policy compel them to deny our regular official connection with their organization. Their denial can do us no harm, if they leave us to act unmolested in our own communion, and we ought to leave them to act unmolested in theirs. The celebration of the Lord's supper is particularly de- scribed once more in the New Testament, namely, in the epistle to the Corinthians. Paul there tells his readers that there were a great many iceak and sickly Christians in their church, and attributes their condition to their negligence in respect to this ordinance. There are weak and sickly Chris- tians everywhere, and the communion service, if it was properly understood, would be the most effectual means of restoring them to health. In bringing' this chapter to a con- clusion, then, it may be well to call the attention of the reader ■ a little to this point. How shall we celebrate the Lord's supper ? How shall we secure the spiritual effect of it, ac- cording to the views presented in the preceding pages ? Consider what the ceremony means. It is intended to bring to our minds the death of Christ, — to remind us of his blood flowing, and his body pierced for us, — " for the remis- sion of sins," as is expressly stated. In order to eat the bread then, and drink the cup, worthily, this must be in mind ; and it is the moral and spiritual effect of this truth upon the heart, which is to be chiefly sought for when we come around the table of the Lord. " It is the night of the preparatory lecture," says one of THE LAST SUPPER. 227 The sickly Christian. Preparatory lecture. Communion day. the weak, sickly Christians pointed at by Paul, in the passage above quoted. " Let me see, — shall I go ?" The speaker has been all day engaged in the world, and his heart is still full of its interests and cares. On the other hand, there is the habit of going to the preparatory lecture. After a brief mental conflict the habit, or, as it perhaps should be called, the attachment to form, conquers, though he fancies that the victory is gained by Christian principle. He walks to the meeting at the appointed time, either think- ing by the way of his worldly plans, or else indulging a feeling of self-complacence at the thought of the superior interest which he feels in religious duty, when he sees how few of his brethren are to be there. He listens to the discourse, much as he would listen to any other sermon, and applies the general considerations it pre- sents, with the same fidelity, to his own case, that this class of Christians usually exemplify. In his way home he may make a remark or two to others who accompany him, about the discourse, or the smallness of the number who were pres- ent ; and then the world, even if it was actually excluded while he was in the house of God, which is more than doubt- ful, presses in upon him again. The approaching solemnity passes from his mind, until, on the next Sabbath, when he is walking up the aisle to his pew, his eye falls upon the plate arranged for the ordinance, and he says to himself, " Ah f the communion is to be administered to-day." During the administration of the ordinance he endeavors to listen to the pastor's remarks, but he find's it somewhat difficult to attend to them. Some few very vague and gen- eral religious impressions pass through his mind, and when the cup is handed to him, he looks serious and takes his portion with a very reverential air ; and something like a general supplication for forgiveness, and for greater measures of holiness, pass through his mind. There is something like 228 THE CORNER-STONE. Feelings at the communion table. Its true design. Its proper eCects. a slight feeling of impatience at the delay while the elements are passing to the others. And yet it is not impatience, exactly, — hut he has no employment for his thoughts, and he feels a little satisfaction when the ceremony is over. He walks home at last, feeling that he has heen discharging a duty, which, though it was not an unpleasant one certainly, he is pleased to think is done. The communion service to such an one is a dead letter , a lifeless, heartless, useless form ; and thousands of Christians everywhere thus pervert the ordinance which God designed to he perhaps one of the most efficacious means of grace that the Christian is permitted to enjoy. Now in order to clearly understand the mode in which this ordinance ought to he celebrated, so as to secure its spiritual blessings, let the reader call to mind what was said in the close of the last chapter, respecting the means by which the soul is to come to Christ in faith, so as to secure forgiveness for the past, and spiritual strength for the future, through a union with him. The great design of the Lord's supper is simply to renew this union. When we first re- pent of sin, and return to duty, we come to the Savior, and seek such a comiection with him as that our sins may be pardoned through his sufferings and death, and that we may have strength furnished us through him, to go on our way safely in future. If this change were entire and complete, — if it overturned forever the dominion of sin, and established the perpetual and perfect reign of holiness, we should perhaps never have occasion to repeat the transaction, and our celebra- tion of the supper would be simply an act of grateful remem- brance, — a memorial merely of the Savior's love. But it is not so. Sin continues its hold. It is always ready to rise to re-assert successfully its power, and the communion season returns to us from time to time, to give us an opportunity of breaking free again and again, and seeking by the mora] THE LAST SUPPER. 229 Examination. Confession. Reunion. Partaking unworthily. power of the sufferings and death which we celebrate, new relief for the conscience, new pardon for sin, new spiritual life, new peace and higher happiness. Whenever therefore it returns, it should bring us to a most thorough and effectual investigation of our standing and progress as disciples of the Savior. It is the time of periodical settlement between our souls and God, when the account should be most carefully examined, and all sins brought out fully to view ; every secret hold which the world has upon us should be dis- covered and broken, and thus the soul should be brought into a state to give itself away anew and without reserve to its Master's work. The world and its cares are to be left behind, all past sins fully examined and fully acknowledged, and the responsibility for them to be brought and laid upon him who is mighty to save. Peace would then return. The collected anxieties and troubles of conscience would all dis- appear. Habits of sin beginning to be formed would be broken up, and the soul refreshed and restored, and reunited to its Savior, would have made, at each successive return of the solemn ceremony, a decided advance in holiness and happiness. But how different is it often in fact. We come to the scene of our Master's sufferings and death, and bring the world all with us. One comes with his quarrels, another with his business ; this brother leads some daring sin in by the hand, and that one is cold and hard in heart, looking on with stupid indifference at the solemn symbols. Of one thing, however, we may be sure. The design of this ordi- nance is very clear, and God has indicated very plainly what are the feelings with which he wishes us to observe it ; and he has left, in the most decisive language, his warning of the danger of our thus coming and profaning what he has made sacred. The institution was designed to have a deep mean- ing, and to produce a powerful effect. By coming without 230 THE CORNER-STONE. Guilt and consequences of it. Lukewarm Christians. examination, and without preparation of heart, and without a desire for the spiritual blessings which it is designed to pro- cure, we are doing all that we can to degrade what God has elevated, — to destroy its character and power and spiritual influence, — and to bring it to contempt. I need not repeat the language in which God has threat- ened those who eat and drink unworthily. It would be plain if such language had not been used, that God must consider the intrusion, of worldliness and sin into the places which he has endeavored to make sacred, as an offense of the highest character. The prosperity of his kingdom in this world depends more upon the purity of his church, and the elevation of its standard of piety, than upon any thing else ; and throughout the whole of the New Testament no design is more apparent, or more earnestly pursued, than that of separating his friends by a clear line of demarkation, from his enemies, and keeping his church pure. The worldly Chris- tians, or rather the worldly professors of religion, crowd around this line, and obliterate all its distinctness. They allure many a sincere follower to it, who would otherwise keep away ; and thus they are thwarting, most directly and most effectually, the progress of the Savior's kingdom. But what shall we do, perhaps some one may ask, if we find, when the time of the communion service arrives, that our hearts are not in the right state, — shall we remain away ? This question is one very difficult to answer. What it is best for one to do who is a professing Christian, and yet will not give up the world and sin, when the time arrives for renewing the solemn consecration of himself to his Maker's service, is hard to say. It is a sad alternative, if one is fixed upon it, — either to disobey Christ's command altogether, or comply with it hypocritically. One thing however is cer- tain, that if we have any adequate ideas of our obligations and our accountability, — if we feel at all what it is to go THE LAST SUPPER. 231 The sad alternative. The Savior's farewell hymn. into the very presence of the Savior, and among his best friends, — a secret enemy ; if, in a word, we could see the solemn ceremony which he instituted, as he sees it, we should be afraid to go and be the Judas there. " And when they had sung an hymn t'hey went out into the Mount of Olives." The Savior and his disciples stood around their table and sang an hymn. It was the Redeem- er's last public act, — his final farewell. He had presided over many an assembly, guiding their devotions or explaining to them the principles of religion. Sometimes the thronging multitudes had gathered around him on the sea-shore ; some- times they had crowded into a private dwelling, and some- times he sat in the synagogue, and explained the law to the congregation assembled there. But the last moment had now come ; he was presiding in the last assembly, which, by his mortal powers, he should ever address ; and when the hour for separation came, the last tones in which his voice uttered itself, were heard in song. What could have been their hymn ? Its sentiments and feelings, they who can appreciate the occasion may perhaps conceive, but what were its words ? Beloved disciple, why didst thou not record them ? They should have been sung in every nation, and language and clime. We would have fixed them in our hearts, and taught them to our children, and whenever we came together to commemorate our Re- deemer's sufferings, we would never have separated without singing his parting hymn. 232 THE COE.XER-STOXE. Dramatic interest of the narrative of the crucifixion. CHAPTER VIII. THE CRUCIFIERS. "The Lord looketh on the heart." A.N instance of as high dramatic beauty and interest as tli3 Bible furnishes, is to be found in the arrangement of the cir- cumstances connected with the great final scene which it portrays. Fiction could not have arranged these circum- stances with more admirable adaptation to the production of effect, and yet nature and truth had never more complete, or more evident control. Perhaps the most remarkable fea- ture of the picture, is the number of distinct and strongly marked characters which appear as actors. Here is religion in all the variety of its forms. Hostility to God sends its representatives in all the leading shapes which it ever as- sumes, to exhibit themselves conspicuously here, hi the view of all the world. This was intended for our instruction. Characters por- trayed in the New Testament are portrayed for the purpose of throwing light upon duty, or upon the nature and tenden- cies of sin ; but we shield ourselves from the proper influence of this example of wickedness, on account of the enormity of the consequences which resulted from it. !No man thinks of comparing himself with Pontius Pilate ; and Christians, though they often quote the example of Peter, seldom think that they have been guilty of his sin. Thus the enormity of the crime, to which sin in this case led, has invested the THE CRUC1FIERS. 233 Its moral effect often lost. Three stages of guilt. whole transaction with such a character, as in the view of men to place it entirely beyond the region of reproof and warning to them. One great design, however, unquestiona- bly, which Jehovah had in view, in allowing this scene to be enacted, was that the whole human family might see what dis- strous effects would be produced, in peculiar circumstances, by very common sins. We evade the intended effect alto- gether, by setting the whole transaction aside ; — disconnect- ing it from all ordinary exhibitions of human nature, on ac- count of the extraordinariness of the effects which resulted when we ought to unite it with them, on account of the commonness of the cause which produced them ; and thus, though there are unquestionably thousands even in the Chris- tian church, and in fair standing, who are habitually govern- ed by the principles of Judas Iscariot, there is not one in the Christian world, so degraded and so abandoned, that he would not resent being called by his name. This is owing to wrong ideas of the nature of guilt, as it is recognized by God's law ; and we shall here devote a few paragraphs to this subject, both because it is of general im- portance to the young Christian to have clear ideas respecting it, and because a right understanding of it is absolutely essen- tial to enable us to receive the proper moral" lessons taught us by the narrative of the crucifixion of the Savior. Guilt, then, as it generally exhibits itself in this world, exists in three stages, proceeding regularly from the first to its consummation in the last. These stages are more or less distinctly marked in all the various cases which occur. We may however take as a convenient instance for illustration, the sin of Joseph's brethren in selling him as a slave. Let us look a few moments at this case. The first stage of their guilt consists in the indulgence of envious and malignant feelings. It is said "they hated him, and could not speak peaceably unto him," and when he 234 THE CORNEE.-STONE. First stage ; guilty feeling. Second stage ; guilty intentions. innocently told them his dream, they said, " ' shalt thou in- deed reign over us V and they hated him yet the more for his words." Here now is guilt, but it is the guilt of feeling, not of conduct. Here are no overt acts of violence or of unkind- ness, — not even any plans or determinations to commit such acts. It is the heart alone which has gone astray. They are filled with feelings of envy and hatred toward their brother ; and though, as is very often the case at the present day when a heart is filled with hateful passions, the brow might have been smooth, and the conduct right, and even though the tone of voice had been gentle and kind, and not a glance of the eye had betrayed the hidden anger, — still, on the principles of God's law, they had committed great sin. It was not the sin of action, nor of intention ; but of the heart. The second stage of their guilt consists in their plans and determinations. They began to form the design to do some violence to their brother. This stage, which it will be readily perceived is distinct from the other, and decidedly in advance of it, is described in the following words. " When they saw him coming they conspired against him to slay him. They said one to another, Behold this dreamer cometh. Come now, therefore, and let us slay him. and cast him into some pit, and we will say some evil beast hath devoured him, and we shall see what will become of his dreams !" This is plainly, as we have said, a distinct stage from the other, and in advance of it. A man may cherish revengeful and malignant thoughts, and yet never intend to carry them forward into action. There are a thousand considerations of policy which tend to restrain him. There is the voice of public opinion, the fear of punishment, the dread of remorse ; and while he hates his brother, and cordially wishes him in- jury, his hand may be held back by the thousand circum- THE CRUCIFIERS 235 Third stage ; guilty action. stances of restraint, with which a kind Providence has hem- med him in. By and by, however, the rising, swelling flood of wicked emotion breaks its barriers. He prepares himself for the execution of deeds of iniquity. His mind passes from the mere indulgence of the wicked feeling itself, to the alto- gether different state, of deliberately intending to commit some open acts of sin. He has thus advanced one distinct step toward the consummation of guilt. Again, the third arid last stage of this disease is the open act. This consummates the guilt, and seals the consequences. In this case, the guilty conspirators took their brother, and let him down into a deep pit in the wilderness, intending to leave him m its dismal solitude to die of hunger and despair Avarice, however, pleaded for his life, and, as by selling him they could get twenty pieces of silver, they changed his des 236 THE CORNER-STONE. Illustrations. Sudden acts. God's view of guilt. tiny from death to slavery. They sold him to a wandering tribe of half-savage strangers, and quietly saw him led away, they scarcely knew where, or for what ; though they could have expected nothing for the brother whom they had thus betrayed, but a life of suffering, and toil, and chains. Such are the three distinct stages of progress in guilt. And let it be understood that the distinction between these stages is not by any means peculiar to this case, nor even more striking here, than it usually is in fact. They all hap- pen to be distinctly noticed and described by the sacred writer, and it is this only which makes the example peculiarly suited to our purpose. But in all cases where open sin is perpetrated at all, it advances step by step in this way. First come the guilty feelings, burning in the heart, — and though restrained for a time, they soon acquire a strength which external influence can no longer control. Then comes the guilty intention, when the mind decides against con- science and duty, and prepares itself to go forth to sin ; and, finally, the open act of iniquity closes the scene. It is true, that in many cases these stages succeed each other with al- most instantaneous rapidity. A man receives a sudden and deep injury from his enemy ; — he grasps a glittering dagger and plunges it to his heart. All is over in a moment, but the sin, though instantaneous, is complicated, and a very slight degree of care in making the analysis, will enable any one to distinguish between the feelings, and the intention , and the action, which it clearly comprises. Now it is the first of these stages which the law of God chiefly regards ; for it is plain that it is this alone which is the true index of character. The rest depends, in far too great a degree on accidental circumstances, to be taken much into the account in estimating guilt. "Whether Joseph's brethren, for example, would ever form any plan for doing the object of their hatred any actual injury, must evidently THE CRI7CIFIERS. 237 Difference between divine and human laws. have depended upon the occurrence of favorable opportu- nities of carrying such a plan into effect. In a Christian country, the circumstances of society would render such an act of iniquity as this impracticable ; and public opinion is in such a state as to operate as a most powerful, and in most cases, an effectual restraint against any such deeds of violence. And yet there are thousands of cases, doubtless, in every Christian country, where feelings exist between brother and brother, that are precisely similar to those which, in the case of Joseph, led to the commission of an atrocious crime. Now it is the almost universal practice in this world, to attach far too much relative importance to the overt acts of sin, and too little to the state of heart from which those acts proceed. The cause of this is two-fold. First, men have very inadequate conceptions of the spirituality of God's law, in any respect ; and secondly, human laws necessarily relate almost exclusively to external acts, and public sentiment feels the influence and imbibes the spirit of these laws. Human laws, in fact, as we have already intimated in an- other place, aim at objects entirely different from that of the divine law. Their design is, not to distribute to every man the just recompense which he deserves, nor to purify the heart, and bring back the unhappy sinner to holiness and peace. Their object is simply to protect the community from the aggressions of evil men. Now a wicked feeling merely, does, comparatively, no immediate injury to society ; and as protection is the sole aim of law and government among men, there are no enactments against wicked feelings, or even against wicked intentions. Human codes give up this ground altogether ; and taking their stand upon the nearest limit of the open act, they say to human passions, Hitherto shalt thou come, but no farther. It is here alone that human law arms itself with its penalties, and this is the whole field of its conflict with the wickedness of man. 238 THE CORNER-STONE. Consequences no criterion of guilt. The murderer. The law of God has, however, a very different object. Its design is not merely to repress the outbreaking of sin, so as to protect men from its injuries, — but to remove and eradi- cate forever the guilty spirit from his heart. It seeks not to arrest the consequences, but to destroy the cause. Its design is to ascertain the true character, to deal with every one as his true character deserves, and, if possible, to bring the wandering and miserable sinner back to duty and to happi- ness. Human laws say therefore to man, Take care that you never carry your sins so far as to encroach upon your neigh- bor's rights, — we must secure protection. The law of God says to him, You are forbidden to sin at all. The one de- nounces punishments in proportion to the injury which is done, — the other regulates its penalties by the exact meas- ure of the secret guilt incurred. A human government seizes a man who has plunged his knife into his neighbor's bosom ; but if a skillful physician interposing can stop the flowing blood, allay the rising fever, and save the endangered life, it immediately relaxes its grasp, and says in spirit, " Gv free from the charge of murder ; the physician who arrested the injury has saved your life. We look only at conse- quences." But the divine government will arrest the crimi- nal as he endeavors to move away, and say to him, " Stop, you are a murderer. God looks not at the consequences, but at the guilt. "Whoso hateth his brother is a murderer." For these, and perhaps other reasons, human law, and con- sequently to a great extent, public sentiment, has condemned, almost exclusively, in this world, the open acts of wicked- ness ; and thus men are and always have been prone to con- sider it as of very little consequence, so long as their outward conduct is fair, what corrupt desires, or raging passions pos- sess their hearts. If the fires do not flash out to view, they care little how luridly they burn within. But God sees not as man sees. He regards the heart as the true seat of virtuo THE CB.UCIFIERS. 239 The feelings of the heart and external conduct. The lady. The rude hoy. and of vice — and the external conduct, which we notice so attentively, he almost passes by ; his eye looks through all these exterior coverings, and penetrating to the inmost soul, he comes to a contest with iniquity in the very heart and center of its reign. How obvious and unquestionable is the principle that the external conduct is regulated quite as much by the circum- stances in which one is placed, as by the true character ; and that therefore external conduct is no safe criterion of charac- ter. A thousand illustrations of this principle might be drawn from among the most common occurrences of life. A lady of elegance and refinement, moving in high rank in so- ciety, surrounded by circumstances which most effectually forbid the open exhibition of the evil passions of the heart by any of the rough forms in which they often show themselves, cherishes, we will suppose, a feeling of envy or jealousy, which soon ripens into anger, against some one of her ac- quaintance ; and in peculiar circumstances, it is possible that she may be almost continually -under the influence of these feelings, so that she lies down at night, and rises in the morn- ing, with these bad passions rankling in her bosom. But in the presence of the object of her displeasure, and surrounded by society, how possible is it for all external indication of her feelings to be restrained. Her brow is smooth, her eye is mild, her tone is gentle ; — and so completely have the cir- cumstances in which Providence has placed her, trained her to the necessity and to the habit of civility, that she dares not transgress. A rude and savage boy, with the same passions, and in precisely the same state of heart, not being controlled by such circumstances of restraint, displays his passions by open malediction, or by clubs and stones. Now how differ- ent are the views which the world takes of such cases as these. And I am far from saying that that they must neces- sarily be equal in guilt. The passions which are the same £40 THE CORNER-STONE. Application of these principles. in kind, in both, may differ in degree. What I wish to say, is, that God looks at the passions reigning in the heart, and not at the open exhibitions of them, which the circumstances of the individual may lead him to make. This is what is meant by the passage, " Whoso hateth his brother is a mur- derer." It is so with all other sins. A man's character for honesty does not, in the eye of God, depend upon his not stealing, but upon his being, in heart, cordially willing and desirous that all around him should enjoy fully their rights ; his character for benevolence, not upon his deeds of charity, but upon his heartfelt desires that all connected with him should be happy ; — his character for truth, not upon his refraining from directly falsifying his word, but upon his being sincere and honest in heart. Mankind do not consider these distinc- tions. It happens, consequently, that a very large part of the virtue of this world is the virtue of circumstances, not of character ; that is, it is no virtue at all ; and yet it is esteemed and applauded by men as if it originated in the loftiest moral principle. But the reader may perhaps inquire what connection these remarks have with the crucifixion of the Savior, — the subject announced at the commencement of this chapter. They have this to do with it. The principles which we have been considering show us that though the crucifixion, as an event, — a transaction, may have been extraordinary and dreadful in the extreme, it does not thence follow that as sin it was very extraordinary. Certain sinful propensities and passions led in that case to consequences which can not in ordinary cases flow from them. But precisely the same principles and passions may reign in the heart, and load it with an equal burden of guilt, though the circumstances in which the actor is placed may be such as entirely to modify, or even effect- ually to restrain the natural and proper results. If we wish then to derive the intended advantage from this portion THE CftUCIFIERS. 241 The characters of the crucifiers. Their characters common. Judas Iscariot. of Scripture history, we must consider these things, — we must make these discriminations between the sin itself and the particular forms in which, from the peculiar circum- stances of the case, it then assumed. We must look at the characters of the actors, rather than their deeds ; for in char- acter, we may ourselves be like those actors, though from the entirely different circumstances in which we are placed, we have not, and we never can have the opportunity to commit the crimes that they perpetrated. I shall endeavor, therefore, as I go on to the examination of the story, to bring to view as clearly as possible the characters of those concerned in it : with particular reference, too, to the aspects which similar charac- ters would assume at the present day. If I am not very greatly deceived, Pontius Pilate and Judas Iscariot, and even the Roman soldiers, have far more imitators and followers than is generally supposed, — and that, too, within the very pale of the Christian church. We left the Savior, at the close of the last chapter, going out late at night with his disciples, from the place where they had held their last assembly. They passed out of the gate, and went down the hill and across the rivulet which flowed through the valley, and thence ascended the Mount of Olives on the other side. One however was absent. Judas Iscariot, it will be recollected, had left the assembly some time before. He had his arrangements to mature for delivering the Savior to the soldiers appointed to make him prisoner.. It seems that the leading priests had been desirous of making Jesus a prisoner, for the purpose of bringing him to trial, but they did not dare to do it openly, for fear of an uproar among the people ; their only other plan, therefore, was to find out his private retreats, and send an armed band for him at some time when he was alone with his friends. This plan it was difficult to execute, for Jesus generally L 242 THE CORNER-STONE. His probable character and plans. Trust conferred upon him. withdrew himself very privately, when his work was done, and they did not know how to find him. Judas relieved them of the difficulty. But who was Judas ? let us look a little at his history and character. There seems to be no evidence against the supposition that he was just such a man as any other of those worldly profes- sors of religion, which are to be found by thousands in the Christian church at the present day. It is plain that he was not that abandoned and hardened reprobate which he is very generally supposed to have been : if so, he would not have hung himself when he found what were the conse- quences of his crime. It does not seem to be at all improb- able, that when he joined the Savior's cause he thought he was sincere. A man would not be likely to connect himself with such a cause for the express purpose of obtaining money. This is possible, but certainly very improbable. It seems far more reasonable to suppose that he became a professed dis- ciple, as thousands do at the present day, with his heart un- changed and not aware of his own true character. They who have a strong love for the world, have often no uncommon share of worldly wisdom ; or, at least, those who love money generally know well how to take care of it ; and Judas, like many others since his day, was appointed to a trust which proved a very dangerous one to him. In fact, the very love for such a trust which fitted him to discharge the duties of it successfully, made those duties very danger- ous to him. It is altogether probable that love of money ac- quired its ascendency over him very gradually. It almost always does. Yery few persons have the hardihood to unite themselves with the Christian church deliberately with the design of making their connection with it a mere source of profit ; but very many who join it professedly with other de- signs do, in fact, gradually turn their connection with it to THE CRUCIFIERS. 243 His present followers. The church. this purpose. They are deceived at first about the sincerity of their motives ; they feel some sort of interest in religion, which interest they mistake for genuine piety ; hut as it is without foundation it soon disappears, the world gradually regains its hold, and as it comes hack and fixes its reign, it leads the man to avail himself of every advantage which he can derive from his new position, to increase his own earthly stores. At first he does this without particular injury to the cause which he has espoused, hut soon the claims of interest and of his Master's service come into slight collision. The latter yields, though he is so blinded that he is not aware of it. The cases become more frequent and more decided ; but the progress of blindness goes on as fast as the progress of sin, so that he continues undisturbed, though he is as really betraying the cause of his Master, as if he were actually guid- ing an armed band to his private retreat. There is no end to the cases which might be stated in ex- emplification of this. We will suppose one or two. A ques- tion arises in a certain town about the erection of a place of public worship. The situation of the building will affect the value of the property in its vicinity, and a certain wealthy professor of religion, with reference solely to this effect upon his property, is determined that the building shall be in one place, while the rest of the church are determined it shall be in another. To make the case simple, we will suppose that the majority are guided by good principles in their selection, that they consult the best interests of the Savior's cause in the decision that they have made, and consequently that the fault is on the side of the single wealthy man. Such is how- ever his influence that he can throw embarrassment and in- superable difficulty in the way of the rest. He divides the Savior's friends, alienates one from another, and is thus the instrument of destroying the peace of the church, and extin- guishing the light of its piety. Years do not heal the injuries 9 244 THE CORNER-STONE. Various ways of betraying Christ's cause. The worldly pastor. which he inflicts upon the Savior's cause. He betrays it, and he betrays it for money, — -just as truly as if he had been directly bribed by thirty pieces of silver to deliver up his Lord. In fact he does even a greater injury than that ; and it is by no means certain which will at last be found to have incurred the heaviest doom, he who sold the Savior's life to Homan soldiers, or he who, from the same motive, turns traitor to the church, and breaks down its barriers against the admission of spiritual foes. The latter certainly betrays a more valued object, and delivers it, too, to more dreadful foes ; for Jesus Christ has given most abundant proof that he loves the church far more than his own personal safety, and that he fears discord and hatred and spiritual death, far more than the insults and injuries of Roman soldiers, or even than the unutterable sufferings of the cross. But let us take another case. It is that of a worldly pastor, who consents to receive in charge a branch of his Master's church, when his motive is' his pay. He neglects his appropriate work, and devotes his time and his attention, and gives all his heart, to the work of increasing his stores. He does it privately and silently, but the world around him soon understand it. They are quick to perceive hypocrisy, and to detect the true character of worldliness, however dexterously it may clothe itself in the garb of piety. The meney-getting disciple thinks, perhaps, that all is going on well. He performs his duties with punctilious formality, but his heart is not in the work, and the souls within his influence are only chilled by the coldness of the form. In a word, the cause committed to him is betrayed, — it is betrayed, too, for money ; aud if it is true that in the sight of God, the heart, and not the particular acts by which the heart may manifest itself, is the criterion of character, he must expect to stand with Judas when the time of reckoning shall come. How many times has a man of business, while professing THE CE.UCIFIERS. 245 The merchant. The probable intentions of Judas. Judas'a excuses. to love the Savior, betrayed his Master's cause by violating its principles, and thus brought open disgrace upon it, in the eyes of the world. He deals in commodities which are destructive to the souls and bodies of men, or he acts on principles which are entirely inconsistent with Christian character. Unjust, oppressive, and miserly, he disgraces the name which he has hypocritically assumed. But he accom- plishes his object ; — he acquires the money for which he is willing to sell his Master. Even Judas was paid. He secures also his other object, that of being called a Christian. He is however a betrayer. For the mass of mankind bring down their conceptions of religion to the rank of the lowest pretender to it whom they can find ; so that he who serves the world and sin, while he pretends to be a Christian, does not generally disgrace himself, he degrades Christianity. Still he accomplishes his objects. He is called a Christian, and makes his money ; but he must rank among the traitors at last. Judas had no idea, probably, that any very serious con- sequences would have resulted from what he was about to do. He might have known, indeed, had he thought about it, but he probably thought of little but his thirty pieces of silver. If he did reflect at all, it was probably only to quiet himself with the excuses, which, in similar circumstances, men always make ; such as that it was his duty to increase his property by all honest means, — that there could be no great harm in merely introducing the soldiers to the Savior — that if he did not give them the information they desired, some- body else certainly would. All the ordinary excuses would have applied perfectly here. It is highly probable therefore that Judas, notwithstanding the pre-eminence in sin which is generally assigned to him, will appear at the great day only as an ordinary type and example of an immense class of offenders. 246 THE CORNER-STONE. The midnight scene. Jerusalem. The garden. The coming forth of the soldiers. However tliis might be, the wretched man went at mid- night to the place of rendezvous ; and while he and the sol- diers who were to accompany him, were receiving their direc- tions and forming their plans in the city, the Savior was bend- ing under the burden of those intolerable but mysterious suf- ferings, which have thrown an eternal gloom over the garden of Gethsemane. Upon what a scene the moon, which was always full at the time of the Jewish passover, must have looked down, at this sad hour. It is midnight ; the moon is high, and the streets of Jeru- salem are deserted and still, except when the footsteps of some solitary passenger re-echo a moment upon the ear, and then die away. Beyond the walls, even deeper silence and solitude reign ; every bird is at its rest, and in the still night air, we can hear the brook murmuring through the valley. In the garden on the other side too, the consecrated place of prayer, every zephyr is hushed, every leaf is in repose, and the moon is silvering, with its cold light, the outlines of the foliage, and brightening on the distant hills. It is midnight, the hour of stillness and rest, but yet the whole scene is not one of repose. The scattered disciples of Jesus wait for their Master, who is bending down in his lonely retreat, under a burden of suffering which we can neither appreciate nor comprehend. And in some lurking place in the silent city, the rough soldiers are lighting their lanterns, and girding on their weapons, and forming their plans. Presently they issue forth, and pass on from street to street, now in light and now in shadow, stealing along prob- ably in careful silence, lest they might arouse some of the people, and provoke the interference which their masters dreaded. At this moment, what a spectacle must the whole scene have presented to any one who could have looked down upon the whole. The dark betrayer, walking in advance of his band with cautious steps, half fearing, and THE CRLXIFtLKS. 24J 'i ha betrayer. Apparent discrepancy. half rejoicing in his anticipated success ; — the careless sol- diers following, to execute a work which they probably did not distinguish from any other similar deed which they often performed ; — the disciples, scattered through the valley, and in the garden, some probably anxious and unhappy, and others, overcome with bodily and mental exhaustion, sunk in sleep ; — Jesus Christ, struggling in solitude, under the pres- sure of sufferings which overwhelmed him with indescribable agitation, and almost unnerved his soul. There must have been something uncommon in an anguish which could carry the Savior's fortitude to its utmost limit. On the cross he was calm. One of the most striking proofs of the genuineness and truth of the narratives of this transaction which are recorded in 248 THE CORNER-STONE. The two accounts. Fearlessness of truth. the New Testament, is the apparent discrepancy between the two accounts of the scene which occurred, when Judas and his band arrived at the place to which Jesus had retired. That this discrepancy may be the better under- stood, we place the two accounts in opposite columns. Matt. xxvi. 4^-50. And -while he yet spake, lo, Judas, one of the twelve, came, and with him a great multitude, with swords and staves, from the chief priests and elders of the people. Now he that betrayed him gave them a sign, saying, "Whomsoever I shall kiss, that same is he ; hold him fast. And forthwith he came to Jesus and said, Hail Master, and kissed him. And Jesus said unto him, Friend, wherefore art thou come ? Then came they and laid hands on Jesus and took him. John xviii 3-8. Judas then, having received a band of men and officers from the chief priests and Pharisees, cometh thither with lanterns and torches and weapons. Jesus, therefore, knowing all things that should come upon him, went forth, and said unto them, Whom seek ye ? They answered him, Jesus of Nazareth. Jesus saith unto them, I am he. And Judas also, which betrayed him, stood with them. As soon then as he had said unto them, I am he, they went backward, and fell to the ground. Then asked he them again, Whom seek ye ? And they said, Jesus of Nazareth. Jesus answered, I have told you that 1 am he. If therefore ye seek me, let these go their way. Fabricators of a story would never have left such a dis- crepancy as this ; and yet it is precisely such an one as two original witnesses would have been almost certain to have fallen into, in narrating the circumstances of such a case. Scenes of calm and quiet action, where but few individuals are concerned, and incidents succeed each other with quiet regularity, may be described perhaps in nearly the same Ian- THE CUUCII'IERS. 249 Explanation. The encounter. .Resistance. guage by different and independent observers — but in a scene of tumult and confusion, where many are acting and talking together, each in a great degree regardless of the rest, faith- ful witnesses who describe what they actually see, will tell very different stories. A large number of the discrepancies of the Bible are of this character, and they are the most striking proofs of the fearless honesty of the witnesses who recorded the facts. Judas came with a preconcerted part to perform. He had arranged every thing beforehand, and probably he had, as it were, every look and action committed to memory. He had braced himself up to his work, and had fixed its details with so much minuteness, that he could perform his part almost mechanically, as soon as the proper moment should arrive. This is human nature as it shows itself on all such occasions. It learns its task, when it has one of an agitating nature to perform, or is to act in any extraordinary emergency ; and then it comes up to the moment of action with a sort of men- tal momentum which carres it through, right or wrong, and leaves it very little power to modify its course, or to adapt it to any new or unexpected circumstances. Judas came with his plan thus formed ; Jesus had also his own course marked out, and the almost mechanical determination of the one, came into collision with the fearless and lofty energy of the other. The soldiers fell back ; perhaps they did not know till they saw him, who it was whom they were to bring ; and in the confusion of the encounter, each witness has re- corded what struck most forcibly his own observation. There was a slight resistance, but Jesus stopped it, and surrendered himself a prisoner. The soldiers regained their courage, after the momentary alarm excited by the Savior's sudden appearance, and began to sec are their victim. There was enough in their rough ferocity to terrify the disciples, and they fled. The soldiers made perhaps some effort to L* 250 THE CORNER-STONE. Binding the prisoner. Jesus before the priests. Their two charges. secure them too. They certainly endeavored a short time after, to seize a young man, on their way, who came out in his night dress, to ascertain the cause of the commotion which he heard. At any rate the disciples fled, and the soldiers had nothing to do but to secure their prisoner. They bound him ; — and binding, under such circumstances, is a very different thing from what most of our readers would suppose. The cords are not drawn lightly around the wrists of a military prisoner. They secured him, and returned to- ward the city. The priests were too deeply interested in the triumphs they were about to enjoy, to wait quietly for the regular time of trial. Some of them even came out with the soldiers toward the place where Jesus was taken, and others assembled in the palace of the High Priest, and Jesus was taken directly into the midst of them. Here they spent some time in collecting their testimony, and framing their charges, and urging each other on to a higher pitch of ex- citement, and to more determined and inveterate hostility. There might possibly be a case in which men might be deceived in regard to the character of a good man, and might press him very severely with the effects of their displeasure, from honest, though mistaken convictions of his guilt. That this, however, was not the case here, is very certain from the nature of the charges brought against the Savior at the differ- ent tribunals where he was successively brought to trial. These charges were varied to suit circumstances, and there- fore could not have been honest. In this case, he was before the Jewish priests, and the accusation brought against him was, irreverence in speaking of what their religion taught them to hold sacred ; — they called it blasphemy. This charge they attempted to prove from some expressions,- perfectly innocent in the sense in which he had used them, and almost perfectly so, even with the meaning which they pretended to attach to them. They found it difficult to establish their charges THE CRUCIFIERS. 25 J Blasphemy. Political condition of the Jews. Capital punishment. by any honest witnesses that they could procure, but they were soon satisfied in another way. When he began to speak of himself they seized upon the innocent expressions which he used, and perverting them from their real import, they called what he uttered blasphemy, and the High Priest rent his clothes with affected horror. They spent some time in gratifying their resentment and hatred, by insulting and tormenting their victim in every possible way. He had pre- tended to be a prophet, and they accordingly blindfolded him, and then beat him, asking him to prophesy who it was that struck the blow. Jesus suffered it all in silence. The conclusion of their deliberation, if such treatment of a helpless prisoner could be called deliberation, was, that he ought to die. But in effecting his death there was a very formidable difficulty in their way, which must be particularly described. Jadea was, at this time, a Roman province. It had been conquered by the armies of the empire some years before, and was accordingly now under Roman government. The policy which the Romans seemed to have pursued, in maintaining their power over the countries which they had conquered, was to leave the inhabitants as much as possible to their own customs and laws, interfering only in respect to certain great and important points, which could not safely be left to the vanquished people. The command of all the forts, and of all the soldiers, they of course assumed themselves. They took the direction of all the important public measures, and they reserved, too, a control over the higher criminal cases which might occur in the administration of justice. This policy now had been adopted in respect to the Jews : in re- gard to the administration of criminal justice it had been decreed that all inferior punishments the Jews might inflict themselves, but they were not permitted to take life in retri- bution for crime, without the permission of their conquerors. 252 THE CORNER-STONE. The Roman governor. His hall. The priests remain in the street. Of course, then, there was no way by which they could pro- cure the exeecution of Jesus, but by carrying him to the Roman government, and obtaining the sentence of death there. But how could they do this ? Their charge against him was blasphemy, and what interest could Roman officers be expected to take in a case of blasphemy? The governor was comparatively a stranger there, having been in posses- sion of the government only six or eight years. He was a Roman, not a Jew ; he felt consequently little interest in Jewish feelings, and no reverence for what the Jews held sacred. How to get a sentence of death confirmed by such a man, against a criminal charged with such a crime as blasphemy, was the question. It could not be done. They knew that it could not be done ; for a Roman officer, as the event in this case showed, could understand the claims of justice, when his own interest or ambition did not interfere with them. If they go to Pilate therefore with their persecuted prisoner, they must have some more plausible pretext than the story of the bias- phemy. By this time their number had probably much increased ; and when the hour arrived at which they could obtain ad- mission at the Roman hall, they bound their prisoner again, and led him forth into the street. Attended and followed by a throng of his Jewish enemies, the Savior walked quietly on until he arrived in front of the palace occupied by the Roman. When they arrived the Jews sent Jesus in, re- maining outside in the street themselves, — lest they should be defiled! What perfectly good friends are superstition and sin, and with how little interference will they share the dominion of the heart. Here is a savage crowd, tyr- annizing over a defenseless and helpless man, in the extreme of injustice and cruelty ; their blood is boiling with angry THE CRUCIFIERS. 253 Scruples of the Jews. Another apj arent discrepancy. THE PALACE. passions, and no ob stacles or difficulties are sufficient to restrain them in their eager- ness to secure the de- struction of their vic- tim ; — and yet, thus excited, thus inflamed, and thus destitute of all right principle to restrain ' them, they stop at once when they come to the doors of a Roman "building, and will not enter it> for fear that they shall be defiled ! The Roman was a pagan, and his apartments were for- bidden ground to them. The strictness of their law had pro- hibited even so slight a connection as this with idolatry ; es- pecially when they were about to celebrate any of the more solemn ordinances of the law. The passover was at hand, and they must eat it. They could insult and torture an in- nocent victim, but they must not omit to eat the paschal lamb ! They could stand burning with malice and rage in a Jewish street ; but to cross the threshold of a pagan dwell- ing, — would never do. Every man there probably prided himself on his scruples, — his inflexible precision in obeying the law ; but thought nothing of the loathsome and terrible corruption which had full possession of his heart. Whited sepulchers the Savior had called them. What an exact comparison ! They were particularly scrupulous at this time, on account of the approaching passover, as the narrative informs us ; but 254 THE CORNEP,-STOXE. Truth and fabrication. Explanation. tlie same narrative states that the passover had "been cele- brated the evening before ; for it was to keep this feast that Jesns and his disciples had met on the preceding evening. The apparent discrepancy is another of those marks of genu- ineness, which no skill can ever counterfeit. The occur- rences of real life constitute a most complicated web, where a thousand actors, and a thousand events mingle and inter- twine in the most intricate confusion. All is however, in fact, consistent, though no one eye can take in the whole. Through this congeries, truth takes its bold and unhesitating way, confident that it can not find at any one point any thing which is really inconsistent with what it is to meet with at another, and therefore it speaks freely of what it sees, and boldly exhibits every object which may lie in its track. It runs of course into apparent difficulties. It leaves inter- ruptions and chasms, which additional light must correct and explain, and it is only when that additional light is fully furnished that we see, in all its perfection, the consistency and harmony of the whole. Fabrication can not take such a course. She must make things consistent and plain, as she goes on ; or if she leaves an apparent difficulty, there must be an explanation at hand. The researches of scholars have reconciled this apparent disagreement ; in fact there are several considerations, each of which is sufficient to account for the language used. Per- haps the most important is, that there was a dispute at that time in regard to the day on which the passover should be kept ; — some, relying simply on the declarations of Scripture, celebrated it on one evening, and the priests and pharisees, following certain traditions, preferred the next. It is not ne- cessary, however, for our purpose to dwell on this subject here. The character exhibited by these priests is the second great THE CRUCIFIERS. 255 Judas and the priests compared. The spirit of the priests. variety which, this whole transaction brings to view. Enmity to the Savior appears in them in very different forms from that which it assumed in Judas. His ruling passion was love of money, — theirs was love of place and power. They were priests ; all their estimation in society, and all the vir- tue, on which they so confidently prided themselves, depended on the ceremonies of the Jewish law. Undermine these, and call public attention from ceremonial exactness to internal purity, and such an influence and such characters as theirs would be ruined. Jesus Christ had been doing this most effectually, and all their spiritual pride, ambition, and every worldly feeling was roused. There is a great difference, also, between the actual ap pearances which were exhibited in the two cases. Judas was calm, the priests were furious. Judas endangered his Master's life by cool, calculating treachery ; the priests were loud and boisterous and urgent, in effecting his destruction. The former was the accessory, assisting others in what he never would have undertaken himself. The latter were the principals, originating every plan, and pressing it forward with the most open and determined energy. The reason for this difference is, that the principles which Jesus Christ was publishing came at once into inevitable and direct collision with the ambitious views and feelings of the priests, while they were not thus aggressive in respect to the avarice of Judas. The Savior's principles did indeed as plainly forbid the avarice, but his acts did not come so directly in the way of its gratification. Judas was left to pursue un- interrupted his own plans, but the hollow hypocrisy of the Jews was not thus left. Every public address made by the Savior was most directly exposing it. Judas, therefore, re- mained quiet and undisturbed, while the priests were goaded on to fury. The ruling passion was gently draivn out of its retreat, in the former case, allured by the opportunity of grati- 256 THE CORNER-STONE. Contentions among denominations. I'otor. fying itself by the ruin of its victim ; in the latter, it waa boldly assaulted in its den, and the contest was, of course, a desperate struggle for existence. The spirit of the high priests exists still in the world, — reigning in many a heart which puts the splendor of forms, or the stability of an ecclesiastical organization, in place of the progress of pure, heartfelt piety. Many a pastor would prefer having a man in his congregation, rather than in another's church, and will really regret the progress of re- ligion, if he sees its current flowing out of his own commu- nion. How many times have professed friends of God stopped suddenly the progress of his cause, by contending about a division of the fruits of its success. They think that they are punctilious for the order and regularity of the church. So did Caiaphas. They sacrifice the interests of the soul, for the sake of scrupulous adherence to what they deem the letter of the law. This was exactly the sin of the priests and Pharisees. The law of God, and attachment to his pre- scribed ordinances, is their pretended motive, while love of personal influence or denominational ascendency is the real one. So it was with these crucifiers of the Savior. There may be a great difference in the degree in which these feel- ings are exhibited, but let those who cherish them study the case, and see if they can find any difference in kind. We can find none. Whoever puts his rank and station, and the interests of that division of the church to which he belongs, on which perhaps his rank and station depend, in competi- tion with the progress of real, heartfelt, genuine piety in the world, will find, if he is honest, that the spirit of the Jewish Sanhedrim is precisely his. But now comes a new character still, upon this ever- varying stage. At the door of the hail where this trial is going on, stands a man who is watching, with eager in- terest, every thing which takes place. He seems to be a THE CRUCIFIERS. 257 His appearance at the hall. Character of Peter ami John. stranger. He endeavors to affect unconcern, but he plainly is not one of the common bystanders there. Presently some one comes down to the door, and procures admission for him, and he takes his place by the fire with the others, who are waiting to see the end. He is accused several times, by persons who notice his appearance, of being one of the friends of the prisoner, but he is afraid to admit it. An hour ago he drew his sword in his master's defense, — now he dares not admit that he knows him. Perhaps he was afraid that Malchus would remember, against him, his wounded ear. He had, in fact, more reason to fear than any other disciple ; and, as human nature is, it is not surprising that he should be overcome by the greatness of the danger. If this scene were fiction, one of its highest beauties would be the contrast of character between Peter and John. A superficial observer, drawing from imagination, would have made Peter, in all respects, bold and undaunted ; and in ex- hibiting John as mild and gentle, would have made him timid and yielding. But history, in this case, as she is re- ceding facts, is true to nature, and while she gives to Petei physical boldness and constitutional ardor, she gives the calm, steady, lofty moral courage to the gentle John. At mid- night, among lanterns, and torches, and weapons, and an armed band, Peter rushes on with his sword ; but when the hour of physical excitement has passed, he turns pale at the question of a maid-servant, and denies his Lord. John has no resistance to offer to a soldier ; but amid all his Master's dangers, he keeps close to his side, his known and acknowl- edged friend ; attending him faithfully on his trial, and do- ing all he can by his presence and sympathy to soothe his last moments upon the cross. Reader, if you had been in Peter's case, should you have denied your Master as he did ? Were this question to be proposed to any assembly of Christians, and if an answer 258 THE CORNER-STONE. Peter's sin very common. His temptations compared with ours. were to be immediately given, according to the spontaneous feelings of the heart, it would be, perhaps, one universal negative. You think that you yourself would certainly never have committed so great a sin ; and still it is not at all im- probable that you are cherishing a secret hope that your sins are forgiven, and are yet concealing it from others. You hope that you are the Savior's friend, but you are afraid or ashamed to have it known to others that you are so. You wish to make secret peace ; and are unwilling to repair open- ly, the injury which you have openly done. Still, you will say perhaps, that, though this may be wrong, there is a great difference between such a conceal- ment, and repeatedly and plainly denying the Savior in ex- press assertions. True. And so there is a great difference between the de- gree of danger which leads you to deny your Master, and that which overwhelmed Peter. You are afraid of a taunt, or of some harmless sarcasm ; scourging and crucifixion threatened him. You are afraid of the looks and words of a few of your own companions ; he quailed before weapons of torture and death, in the hands of a ferocious soldiery ; if you consider, therefore, the difference between the modes by which your practical denial of Christ, and his, are exhibited, you must also consider the difference in the strength of the tempta- tions by which you are respectively overcome. The sin is the same in its nature in both cases, and though yours is less con- spicuous, it may be even more rather than less aggravated than his. Tru sin of Peter is, in all essential characteristics, very often committed by those who profess to abhor it. Brought as we are, in such a world as this, into perpetual connection with the influences of sin, we are very often thrown into cir- cumstances where we think it most prudent, for a time, to conceal the flag under which we profess to sail. There i* THE CE.UCIFIEE.S. 259 Denying Christ at the present day. The narrative resumed. no great danger which we dread ; but when we come into scenes where Jesus Christ is not honored, and where his prin- ciples are in disrepute, we quietly conceal our attachment to him ; and while we perhaps say nothing that is false, wo allow ourselves to pass for worldly men, by speaking in their tone, and displaying, so far as we can, their spirit. We are ashamed or afraid to avow our principles, and, consequently, we stand substantially where Peter did. There is, in fact, no essential difference between his case and ours. The cir- cumstances are altered, but the spirit is the same. But we must go on with our story. The Jews, too punc- tilious to go themselves into the judgment hall, waited in the street and sent their prisoner in. The conversation which ensued is one of the most striking examples which the Bible contains ; — every incident being so true to nature, and every word so exactly in keeping with the character and circum- stances of the individual who utters it. It was substan- tially as follows. While reviewing it, however, we must keep in mind the strongly-marked characteristics of the three great parties in the transaction. Jesus the victim, patient, quiet, and submissive, ready to bear and to suffer every thing ; silent under mere taunts, but ready to explain, when any one shall honestly ask for explanation. The crowd in the street, eager for his destruction, but without power to effect it, un- less they can obtain permission from the governor, before whose palace they have assembled ; and the governor himself caring nothing about the Jews or their pretended criminal ; but unwilling either to put an innocent man to death, or to displease the people under his command, and standing espe- cially in awe of any thing which might hazard his political character in the estimation of the emperor at Rome. Agi- tated and distracted by the contrary impulses of these feel- 260 THE CORNER-STONE. The dialogue in the street. Oharge ( f treason. ings, he vacillates and wavers, and tries every way to escape the responsibility of a decision. The reader must bear in mind that the conversation and the incidents, as we proceed to relate them, are not pictures of the writer's imagination, but that the account is faithfully transcribed from that of the sacred writers, with no change, except the adaptation of the language to the purposes of this narrative. "What accusation do you bring against this man?" was the first and most natural question. Pilate came out to ask it of those who had assembled at the door. They answered that he was a malefactor. Perhaps they had not decided upon the precise charge which they should bring against him. " Yery well," was the reply, " take him then and judge him according to your law." " He deserves death, and that it is not lawful for us to inflict," they replied. "We have, therefore, brought him to you." A conversation now ensued, in which they produced a new charge, one adapted to the feelings of the new judge. The old accusation was blasphemy. Now it is treason. Treason against the Roman government. This, too, when every Jew, from Galilee to Gaza, abhorred the Roman yoke, and would have almost deified any one who would have raised success- fully the standard of rebellion. Every Roman tax-gatherer was hated, and every mark of the political subjection of the country was odious in the extreme ; and they had them- selves attempted in vain to lead Jesus to say something against the Roman government, supposing that he would not dare to brave public opinion so far as to speak in its favor. In the face of all this, they come, heartless pretenders to an allegiance which they did not feel, to denounce him to their common enemy, for what they would, every man of them, THE CRUCIFIERS. 261 Pilate and the Savior in the tall. have been glad to have had done. It was the basest of all charges ever brought against the victim of any oppression. They accused him, before their common enemy, of being their own friend ; for treason against Csesar would have been political attachment to them ; so that if he had uttered sentiments hostile to the powerful foe which had brought one common oppression over the land of their fathers, it would have been base treachery for them to have dis- closed it. But he had not. They took some of his metaphorical expressions, and perverted them to a meaning which they were never intended to convey ; and endeavored from these to maintain their charge of treason against Csesar. The charge was well calculated to produce some effect. It evidently arrested the attention of the Roman, and he went into the hall, where Jesus stood waiting, to ask for his defense. The manner in which he accosted him seems to imply that Pilate thought it probable that his prisoner was some insane or at least eccentric man, against whom his countrymen had been for some reason exasperated ; for he does not put the charge of treason to him as an accusation against which he wished to hear his defense ; " Art thou the king of the Jews ?" said he ; as if his object were to put him off his guard, by saying nothing which implied reproach, but only endeavoring to draw him into conversation. "Do you ask the question of your own accord?" was the Savior's reply, " or is that the charge which they bring against me." It must be remembered, that Jesus, having remained within the hall, had not heard the conversation which Pilate had held with his enemies in the street. " Am I a Jew ?" asked Pilate in reply. " What interest should I take in the affairs of your people ? Your own coun- trymen have brought you here to me, as a criminal : what is it that you have done ?" _ 262 THE CORNEPc-STONE. Pilate's efforts. His inquiries. His plan for avoiding a decision. " They accuse me then of trying to he a king. I have spoken sometimes of a Jcingdo?n, hut it is not of this world. It is evident that I have not aimed at political power ; if I had, I should never have yielded up myself to my enemies ■without a struggle. My friends would have fought for me if this had heen the nature of my aim. No : the kingdom which I have spoken of is not of this world." "Are you a king, then, in any sense ?" "Yes, I am. I came into the world to found a new moral kingdom here, hy hearing witness to the truth." " What is your truth ?" asked the Roman ; hut apparently not waiting for a reply, he went out to the door again, and told the multitude there, that he found no fault in the man. He prohably supposed that he was some ignorant and deluded, but harmless enthusiast, whose case deserved no serious notice. The priests, however, renewed their charges. They assured the governor that their prisoner was really a dan- gerous man, that he had heen exciting sedition, and teaching the people treason against the Roman government, all over lhe land, from Galilee to Jerusalem. The word Galilee suggested to the perplexed Roman a Lew way of extricating himself from the difficulty, for it was fast becoming quite a serious difficulty to him. His sense of justice would not allow him to condemn an innocent man, but he could not resist the clamor which demanded his death. The word Galilee reminded him that he might throw off the responsibility of the decision upon Heiod, who had jurisdiction over that province, and who was, at this time, accidentally at Jerusalem. He sent Jesus therefore to Herod, his accusers following in the train. Herod was glad to see them come, when he heard who it was that they were bringing. He did not wish, like Pilate, honestly to examine the case, but hoped for amusement THE CRUC1FIERS. 263 . Herod. The Savior's silence. Another plan. from his prisoner. Jesus perceived it at once ; and though he frankly explained to Pilate his character and plans, to Herod's questions of curiosity and insult he deigned no reply. The priests and scribes accused him vehemently, but he was silent. They clothed him in a gorgeous robe, in ridicule of his supposed pretensions, and then sent him back to Pilate. Under these circumstances, the Procurator was much per- plexed to know what to do. Duty was on the one side, and strong inducement to do wrong on the other, and he wavered, and hesitated, and resisted, and inclined now to this side, and now to that, just as the human mind so often does, in cir- cumstances substantially the same. Millions of men, who struggle ineffectually with temptation to do acknowledged wrong, may see their own story told, and almost their own hearts reflected in this scene. His first plan was, to compromise the difficulty. "You have brought me this man," said he, " as one that is exciting the people against my government. I have examined him, here before you, and can not find any evidence of his guilt. I have sent him to Herod too, and he finds no more evidence than I. Now I am willing to inflict some moderate punishment upon him, but he has done nothing worthy of death." This of course did not satisfy the Jews. They were deter- mined, if the most urgent demands on their part could pre- vent it, that he should not escape so. Pilate then thought of another proposal. It had been customary for him at the great festival of the Jews to release some public criminal, as a favor to them. In a conquered country the interests of the government are gen- erally regarded as so distinct from those of the people, that even the punishment of criminals, especially those guilty of political crimes, is regarded as in some sense, an injury to 2G4 THE CORNER-STONE. Barabbas called for. The excitement. Pilate's perplexiiy. the community. A foreign power comes and establishes itself over them, and it is not surprising that even Avholesome control should be unpopular, and that the pardon of a state criminal should be regarded as a boon from the authorities, — a suitable contribution from the government, to the means of rejoicing at a great public festival. The lloman proposed, then, since the Jews insisted that Jesus should be condemned to die, to consider him as thus condemned, and then to pardon him, as it was usual to par- don one on the occasion which had now arrived. He might have known that this proposition would not satisfy them. The crowd were all ready with their reply. " Release Barabbas;" "Pardon Barabbas;" "Barabbas," came up from a hundred voices. "What shall I do then with this Jesus ?" " Crucify him ; — Cru- cify him." " Why, what evil hath he done ? He is not guilty." " Crucify him; — Cru- cify him ;" was the uni- versal reply. The perplexed and distressed Procurator seems scarcely to have known what to do. The crowd must at this crucify him. time have become very great, and was proba- bly every moment increasing. Passions were rising, — violent gesticulations, and ferocious looks, spoke the intense excitement which prevailed, — and he must have seen that there was THE CILUCIFIERS. 265 The scourging. The crown of thorns. the most imminent danger of a riot, perhaps an insurrection, which would involve him in lasting difficulty, or might even ruin forever his political hopes. He could allay the whole by giving up the defenseless and innocent object of their fury. But when he looked upon him, patient, mild, sub- missive, waiting in silence to learn what was to be his fate, he could not do it. He was a Roman, and he knew his duty. It was very plain, however, from the course that he had taken thus far, what would be the ultimate decision. He began to yield at last, and when a man proposes terms with sin of any kind, it is not difficult to foresee which will con- quer. Pilate concluded to go one step farther ; to scourge the prisoner, in hopes, perhaps, that when his enemies came to witness his sufferings under the lash, their hearts would relent, or at least that their anger would be satisfied. He gave him up to the soldiers therefore, and ordered him to be scourged. Scourging ! How few of those who have read this story have any idea what a military scourging is. I might give a description from the narratives of witnesses, for the horrid suffering is still inflicted as a supposed essential part of mili- tary discipline. But it must not be done ; I could not intro- duce to my readers, by distinct description, a hardy soldier, writhing and shrieking under such an infliction, without passing those limits in the detail of physical suffering, beyond which, such a work as this ought not to go. How Jesus bore it, we are not told. Pilate hoped it would satisfy his mur- derers. It would have satisfied any common murderers. The scourging finished, — the bleeding sufferer was retain- ed some time by the soldiers, for their amusement. A larger number, perhaps nearly the whole garrison of Fort Antonia, were called to enjoy the sport. They crowned him with thorns, and gave him a reed for a scepter, and then with the M 266 THE CORKER-STONE. One more appeal to the Savior's enemies. The decision. gorgeous rote which Herod had found for him, they held him up as an object of universal derision. Pilate at length came forth again, to make a last effort to save the prisoner. " Here," said he, " I ' ^^ Irzz ^ ;• .'I; have brought him forth again, to tell you once more, that he is not guilty. Behold the man," said he, as he pointed to the prisoner, covered with marks of the sufferings and in- dignities he had borne. The reed was in his hands, the purple robe around him, and the thorns were in his bleeding temples. No wonder Pilate thought his enemies would have been moved. " Crucify him," " Crucify him ;" was the universal reply. " You must take him then and crucify him yourselves, for I can not find any fault in him. He has not been guilty of treason." But why go on to detail the faltering, failing efforts, which the Reman officer made to save his prisoner. He had begun to yield, and though he continued to dispute the ground, at every step he gave way more and more, until, finding that riot and tumult were inevitable, and when it was pretty dis- tinctly intimated that he might be denounced at Home, as a traitor himself, if he allowed this supposed traitor to go free, he finally yielded. Before giving, however, the orders for BEHOLD THE MAN. THE CRUCIFIERS. 267 Character of Pontius Pilate. The soldiers. the crucifixion, lie came out before the multitude, and in the most solemn manner assured them, that the man was inno- cent, and that if they crucified him, they must answer for his blood. " His blood be on us, and on our children," was the awful reply. Very few men ever think of comparing themselves with Pontius Pilate, or with the soldiers who executed his orders ; when perhaps there are not anywhere in the Bible, delinea- tions of character which might be more universally appro- priated than these. Neither of them felt any special hostility for the Savior. Pilate would have done his duty if he could have done it by any common sacrifice ; but like multitudes, probably, who will read this examination of his character, he was not willing to make the sacrifice which was neces- sary, in taking the right side. The reader fluctuates, per- haps, just as he did, between conscience and temptation, yielding more and more to sin, and finding the struggle more hopeless the longer it is continued. A religious book, an afflictive or a warning providence, or an hour of solitude, quickens conscience, and renews the combat ; but the world comes in with its clamors, and, after a feeble resistance, he gives way again, — a Pilate exactly, in every thing but the mere form in which the question of duty comes before him. And the Roman soldiers too ; they would have said if they had been charged with doing wrong, that they were soldiers, and that they must do as they were ordered. They executed Christ as they would have executed any other man at their centurion's command. Such work was their business, and the part which they performed in the sad tragedy was, as they considered it, an act simply of official duty ; they felt, probably, that there devolved upon them personally no re- sponsibility whatever for the deed. The excuse was, to say 268 THE CORNER-STONE. Sinning in the way of business. Various characters exhibited at the cross. the least, as good then as it is now, and it will be allowed as much weight at the judgment day in the case of the ignorant and degraded soldier, as in that of the enlightened and culti- vated member of a Christian community. In other words, it is no excuse for either. The bookseller who has circulated a pernicious book, the lawyer who has fomented the quarrels which he ought to have healed, the merchant who has dis- tributed over the community the temptations to vice, or the means of gratifying unholy passions, and the soldiers who insulted and tortured their victim in obedience to their com- manders, will all find at last, that the customs or regulations of business among men, will never justify doing what con- science declares to be wrong. Such is the marked and striking variety of character which is exhibited in this extraordinary scene. We have the sol- diers and the bystanders, like the mass of mankind, uncon- cerned and reckless, caring little about right and wrong, and controlled in their conduct by the accidental influence of circumstances, — neither fearing God, nor regarding duty ; and we have Pilate, doubting and hesitating hi the struggle against sin, — conscience awake, and yet temptation power- ful, and the contest ending, as such contests usually do, in the victory of sin. They are fair examples of tile two great forms of open wickedness ; hardened reprobates sinning with- out compunction, and the wavering and miserable soul doing wrong in spite of it. It is hard to tell which Goi regards as most guilty. We have hypocrisy, also, in its two leading forms ; Judas, a hypocrite for money, and the priests, hypo- crites for place and power. To complete the collection, we have piety in its two leading forms ; the wandering, sinning, and broken-hearted Peter ; and Mary and John, firm in their duty, and unwavering in their affection, to the last ; sharing the opprobrium and the danger of their Master, and keeping THE CEUCIFIERS. 269 His numerous friends. Crucifixion. Inflammation. closely at his side ; giving him all that human sympathy can give, and receiving his dying charge. It is a very common impression that the populace, gener- ally, were against the Savior, at this time ; but the narrative does not seem to countenance this idea. The priests were against him, and they seem to have been the chief, if not the only agents. They contrived their plans secretly, in order to get him apprehended, and to procure sentence against him by the Roman governor, before there should be any opportu- nity for a rescue by the people ; after this, they knew that he would be secure ; and now when he was led away, under Roman authority, to execution, they seem not to have feared any interruption. A great company of friends did, however, follow him, lamenting his cruel fate. He once turned to address them on his way, asking thern to weep not for him, but for themselves and their children. They came to the place of execution, and painful as it is, we must dwell a few moments upon the scene that was pre- sented there. Jesus was to be crucified ; and crucifixion is perhaps the most ingenious and the most perfect invention for mingling torture and death which was ever contrived. It is the very master-piece of cruelty. life is to be destroy- ed ; but in this way of destroying it, it is arranged with sav- age ingenuity that no vital part shall be touched : the tor- turer goes to the very extremities, — to the hands and to the feet, and fixes his rough and rusty iron among the nerves and tendons there ; and the poor sufferer hangs in a position which admits of no change and no rest, until burning and torturing inflammation can work its way slowly to the seat of life, and extinguish it by the simple power of suffering. They laid the Savior down upon the cross, and extended his arms ; a soldier on each side holds the hand down in its assigned position, and then presses the point of his iron spike 270 THE CORXER-STONE. Thirst, Suffering. Death. upon the proper place in the palm. He raises his hammer, — the patient sufferer waiting calmly for the "blow : — But we must stop ; — we are going beyond those limits in the detail of physical suffering, which we have said that a writer in such a work as this, should not pass over. We leave the rest, and the reader must conceive, if he can, of the first sharp piercing agony, and the excruciating pains then shooting through the frame ; — the rising inflammation, and the intolerable thirst, — the dreadful thirst of the wounded, — that thirst which brings up from a field of battle, a few hours after the contest, one universal cry for water, from the thou- sands who lie dying upon the ground. As the Savior hangs, too, by such a suspension, hour after hour, we must remember that he had been scourged. Perhaps this was in mercy how- ever. He died sooner than the malefactors. But it is too awful a scene to dwell upon. "We may read the narrative in the gospels, without much feeling, because we have long been familiar with the words, and they cease to affect us. But if the imagination really enters into the scene, she recoils, awed and terrified, from the contemplation of such sufferings. Life was slow in relinquishing its hold, attacked thus, as it was, in the remote extremities. It sunk at last, however, under the power of protracted pain. The sufferer ceased to speak ; his head dropped upon his breast ; and as they looked up to his face from below, the rigid fixedness of feature, and the half-closed and glassy eye told them that all was over. In crucifixion, ingenious and savage cruelty maintains her ground to the very last ; for when the executioner gets tired of waiting for the miserable sufferer to die, and time compels him to do something to accelerate the work, he has not the mercy to destroy the sad remnant of vitality at a blow. He THE CRUCIFIEE.S. 271 The soldiers' visit at sunset. The body taken down. The disciples. keeps, still, as far as possible, away from the seat of life, and by new violence inflicted on the limbs, endeavors simply to send a new pang, as a reinforcement to the assailant, in the protracted contest between life and suffering;. It is the very object and aim of crucifixion to kill by pain, and with savage consistency they will employ no other agent to speed the work. Accordingly when, at sunset, the soldiers came to the place of execution, to see how the fatal process was going on,- they broke the malefactors' legs to quicken their dying struggles. " He is dead already," said they, when they came to the Savior's cross, and looked at the body hanging passive and lifeless upon it ; and one of them thrust his long iron-pointed spear up into his side, to prove that there was no sense or feeling there. The ferocious executioners then went away and left the disciples to take the body gently down, and bear it away to the tomb. As they carried it to what they supposed would be its long home, the limbs hung relaxed and passive ; the tongue, to whose words of kindness and instruction they had so often listened, was silent ; the eye fixed, — the cheek pale, — the hand cold. The soldiers had done their work effectually ; and though the disciples could not have noticed these proofs that their Master had really gone, without tears, they must still have rejoiced that the poor sufferer's agonies were over. As to themselves, all their hopes were blasted, and all their plans destroyed. They had firmly believed that their Mas- ter was to have been the Savior of his nation ; instead of that, he had been himself destroyed. The day before, every thing had looked bright and promising in their prospects ; but this sudden storm had come on, and in twenty-four hours it had SAvept every thing away. They placed the body in the tomb, and, disappointed, broken-hearted, and overwhelm- 272 THE CORNER-STONE. Moral effect of the scene ed with sorrow, they went to their homes. They knew noth- ing about the design and nature of these sufferings, — and we know, after all, but little ; but who can be so insensible as not to seo, that this transaction, exhibiting on so conspicuous a stage all the forms and degrees both of holiness and sin, and especially when seen in the light in which the sacred writers subsequently exhibited it, goes very far toward mak- ing the same moral impression, as would be made by the just punishment of sin. Who can read the story, without loving purity and holiness, and abhorring and dreading guilt. THE PARTING COMMAND. 273 Plan of the work. Human life. CHAPTER IX. THE PARTING COMMAND, OR THE MEANS OF SPREADING THE GOSPEL. " Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature." Were we to follow inclination, we should not pass over those most interesting events, which occurred during the in- terval between the Savior's death and ascension. But it is not the design of this work, as the reader will have already perceived, to give a connected and continuous history of Jesus Christ, hut to bring forward the leading principles of religious truth, as they are naturally connected with the various points of this history. Fidelity to our plan therefore seems to require, that after having considered the sufferings which our Savior endured for us, we should pass on to the consideration of the great work which he wishes us now to do for him. He assigned this work to his disciples by his last words. The objects and the pursuits of human life are entirely changed, by the view which the gospel takes of the human condition and character. "Without the light which Chris- tianity sheds upon it, life is a dull and wearisome path, a routine of tiresome duties, or heartless pleasures. Every one will admit that it has been so with him, in respect to the past, though his future way seems gilded with new promises of enjoyment. These, however, will certainly fade away, when he approaches them, as all the rest have done. M^ 274 THE CORNER-STONE. Anticipated happiness. What have I to live for. The mass of mankind never see this. They know, it is true, that they have never been really contented and happy, and are not so now ; hut just before them, in the voyage of life, they see a bright spot upon the waters, which they ex- pect soon to reach, and where their bark will float, they think, in a golden sea of light and glory. That spot has been just as far from them, and has looked just as bright and al- luring for years, — and as they have approached it, the splen- did reflection has fled, and the waters have returned to dark- ness and gloom, before the keel of their bark could plow them. Still they have not discovered this illusion, but they give themselves up, again and again, to the influence of these deceitful hopes, and press forward as eagerly to the spot of imagined happiness, as if it had now just for the first time burst upon their view. The more thinking and serious, however, see the truth, and feel it deeply. It seems to them discouraging to toil on in duties which return every day the same, and the perform- ance of which leaves behind no permanent effects ; or to seek for pleasures which the experience of years has proved can seldom be attained, and which, when they are attained, do not satisfy. These feelings have oppressed many a sensitive and reflecting spirit, as it has looked forward to the years of life that remain, and thought how soon they would be gone, and has asked with a desponding sigh, " What have I to live for?" The true followers of Jesus Christ are raised at once above the vacuity and inanity which characterize a life spent with- out God. Their Master did not leave the world without giving them something to do. Something, at once pleasant, and useful, and ennobling. It is pleasant, because it interests all the feelings of the heart, and carries the soul on to peace- ful, but rich enjoyments, of the very highest character. It is useful ; it seeks directly the highest good, aiming at happi- THE PARTING COMMAND. 275 The work of a Christian. Means of doing it. Holy life. ness present and future, and attaching its own proper share of importance to every means of attaining it. It is enno- bling ; for it sinks all the base passions of selfishness and sin, it breaks over the barriers and limits of time and sense, and expands the views and widens the field of effort, — and by linking man with God, in one great and common enterprise, it raises him almost out of the sphere of human action, and gives him an employment eternal in duration, and unbounded in the wide-spread extension of its aims. The work which Christ has given us to do is the promo tion of his kingdom here ; and it is the work of all . If there is any thing clearly asserted in the New Testament it is that the followers of the Savior are not their own, but his ; that they are bought with a price, and are bound to be devoted to their Maker's service. The great work, too, which in his service they are called upon to perform, is establishing and spreading the reign of holiness in this world ; and it is of such fundamental importance that every Christian should understand clearly his duty in this respect that a chapter ought to be devoted to it ; and as it is a subject which re- lates exclusively to personal duty, I shall adopt the form of direct address to my reader. When you give yourself up to the service of Jesus Christ, then, consider how much is meant by it. It involves, among other things which have already been considered, devoting yourself to his work. To bring men to repentance and holi- ness was the work of his life ; if you follow him, then, it must be yours. This point, however, was considered more fully in a preceding chapter. Our object is now not to en- force the duty, but to show rather by what means it is to be performed. These we shall consider in order. I. A HOLY LIFE. The most direct and powerful means of promoting the 276 THE CORNER-STONE. Two kinds of influence. The salt of the earth. Savior's kingdom, is the vigorous cultivation of your own growth in grace. There is a great tendency among Chris- tians to look too much away from themselves, and to suppose that they are to do good to their fellow-men by bustling efforts, bearing directly upon them, without the light of a high and consistent and unsullied example of holiness. " Ye are the salt of the earth," said our Savior, and the very ex- pressive metaphor seems to imply that Christianity is to in- fluence mankind not so much by its outward and open tri- umphs in the world, as by the silent and unseen, and yet most powerful operation of its principles, in the hearts and lives of its professors. The thousands of individual Christians are surrounded, each in his own little sphere, with a circle upon whom they exert a constant influence. The aggre- gate of this influence is immense. Each individual, how- ever, is responsible only for his own comparatively minute and separate share ; but success in securing it, in every part, and consequently in the whole, depends on personal Chris- tian character. To show this, let us consider the amount of influence of two distinct kinds, which may be exerted by a particular church. The church consists, we will suppose, of a hundred members ; and in the daily business and pursuits of life, these members are connected, probably, more or less directly with two thousand persons. That is, there are two thousand per- sons, at least, who are acquainted with some one or more of them. One kind of influence, then, exerted by these Chris- tians is, that of their private character and conduct, and the spirit manifested in their dealings, as they affect these two thousand. Again, they are interested, we will suppose, in the spread of religion, and they contribute a considerable sum of money to circulate Bibles or tracts, or to support mission- aries in foreign lands. Now the point is, that the former, namely, the private influence, exerted over those with whom THE PARTING COMMAND. 277 Dutie3 to ourselves. Common danger. Looking to others. they come into immediate connection, is far more important than the other. It is this kind of influence which is more frequently spoken of in the New Testament than the other ; and if the church felt the importance of it, and universally acted accordingly, the Gospel would make far more rapid progress in the world than it now does. The reader will see in the sequel that I do not mean to undervalue the second mode of promoting Christ's kingdom. It should have its proper place ; but the first and great duty of every Christian is to see that his own heart is right, and that the light of the glory of God shines in all his private conduct. And yet this is very often forgotten. The heart, deceitful and hard toward God, loves to forget it. We seek moral renewal for ourselves, and we feel, at first, a strong interest in our Maker's service ; but the world comes in again and gets the victory ; and since we do not like to renew the pain- ful struggle necessary to overthrow it once more, we leave ourselves, and endeavor to quiet conscience by activity in our efforts to save others from their sins. Our pride is gratified by the thought that we stand on safer and better ground than those for whom we labor, and there are many other worldly feelings that we gratify, in devising and executing our plans. In the mean time our own hearts remain cold and dead ; our petitions become feeble, our prayers formal ; desires for real spiritual blessings for our own souls are gone, and we work industriously, with the pretense of endeavoring to procure for others what we do not really desire for our- selves. This must not be so, if we wish to do any good to the cause of Christ. We must look within, and seek first to eradicate our own sins, and have our own hearts right. We should pray for spiritual blessings for ourselves, and see that we do it sincerely. Many and many a night when the Christian kneels for his evening prayers, he can not honestly 278 THE CORNER-STONE. Watching one's self. Common way of evading duty. ask God to come and be with him. The world has full pos- session ; and if he prays in words that God would come and break its chains, it is with a secret wish that he may not be heard. If we examine ourselves with careful scrutiny, we shall often find that this is really the case. The Christian, therefore, who wishes to be at his post, and to act- efficiently for his Master, should pray for himself, and see that he can pray honestly. . Again, he should watch himself. We are all far more willing to watch one another than to watch ourselves. It is easier, and more pleasant to see the faults of others than our own. We like to think of the obstinacy, and ingratitude, and folly of those that are entirely without God in the world, far better than to see the same qualities in ourselves. Now there is, unquestionably, such a fault as turning our thoughts too exclusively to ourselves. Many persons err in this way, and to them, advice contrary to this should be given. But such cases are rare. The mass of. Christians, especially in this busy age, are far more inclined to be watchful over all their neighbors, than over themselves, and especially to see the hardness of heart, and the base ingratitude exhibited by sinners, while they entirely overlook their own. Once more ; we should labor fox our oivn spiritual good. In religious action, the natural law in respect to selfishness seems to be reversed. We are far more ready to toil for others, than for ourselves ; we had rather that they would repent, than that we ourselves should grow in grace ; — we prefer buying and distributing a dozen tracts for the unre- generate, to reading attentively and prayerfully a treatise designed to promote our own progress in holiness. This is not surprising, though it is very wrong. Unhappi- ly for us, moral renovation leaves sin in our hearts, wounded, indeed, but very imperfectly subdued ; and this" is one of the forms, which, forever deceitful, it continually assumes ; but THE PARTING COMMAND. 279 Influence of personal holiness. Influence of action. it must not be so. The best way to spread religion, is to exe?nplify it. A pure church is the most powerful army ; the Christian armor consists of the Christian graces, and it is with these ; that victories really valuable are alone to be won. But it is not my intention here, to point out the means of growing in grace, but only to bring to view the importance of a high standard of personal holiness among believers, as a means of spreading the religion of the Savior. There is a great tendency to look with too exclusive an interest at the public movements of the church in its efforts to extend its boundaries, while the far more powerful influences which might be exerted by piety and holiness within, are compara tively neglected. The interest felt, however, in the public movements of the church, is not yet half what it ought to be I do not wish to depress the one, but to raise the other. In fact they generally go hand in hand. Right efforts, made in the right spirit, are among the very best means of promoting piety and spiritual progress, in the individual who makes them ; there is a sort of reflex action that brings to his own heart, the blessings which he seeks to bring down upon others. But to accomplish this object, they must be right efforts, made in the right spirit : and here is the danger. In fact there is no question that a man may be led to the most vigorous efforts to promote the cause of religion from motives which are altogether distinct from those which the Savior requires. Self-interest, party spirit, love of honor, spiritual pride, and a thousand other motives animate a vast proportion of the zeal which is professedly expended in the cause of Christ. One man, a professor of religion, and in fact a sincere Christian, is very much engaged in promoting the building of a church. 'The cause of Christ, he thinks, requires it. So it does, and so will the value of his property be increased by its being placed in his vicinity ; and it will 280 THE COE.NER-STONE. Double motives. Bad principles cultivated by religious acte. require a great deal of careful self-examination, for him to ascertain in precisely what proportion these two motives act upon him.~ In fact, if a destroying angel were commissioned to pass over our land, and apply the torch to every church which pride, or interest, or love of honor had erected, and leave those only which are the monuments of sincere and honest love to the Savior, we fear that the smoke of a great many conflagrations would ascend. In the same manner, a minister will he active and ardent in his efforts to awaken religious interest among his people ; or, an author may write a hook, ostensibly to give religious instruction. Now they both may be led forward in their work by a desire to do good ; but it must not be forgotten that the very same success which accomplishes good for the cause, brings honor to the laborer ; and many an enterprising and zealous workman will find, if he looks honestly at his heart, that the worldly feeling has far more than its fair share in the work. It is the same with all the open and active means of endeavoring to promote the Savior's cause. There is so much mingling of motives in them, that it is difficult to tell, in many cases, whether the natural or the renewed feelings are most cultivated by such efforts. If these things are done in the right spirit, they cultivate that spirit ; — and on the other hand, the feelings which prompt them are strengthened, if they are wrong. Bad passions as well as good thrive under the influence of indulgence, and consequently the very same act, such as contributing money for any religious or charita- ble purpose, may be the means of awakening and cherishing in the heart of the Christian who makes it, love to Grod, and a warm desire for the salvation of men. It may wean him from the world, and link him to his Savior by a bond closer than before. On the other hand, it may give the reins to selfishness and passion, and banish spiritual peace and joy, THE TARTING COMMAND. 281 Influence of the heart greater than that of the conduct. and bring back the soul very far in its sad return to the dominion of sin. It is therefore unsafe to depend, as too many do, on mere Christian action, for their growth in grace. It is sometimes unquestionably wise, to turn the thoughts of some dejected desponding Christian away from himself, in the hope that he may find cheerfulness and enjoyment in doing work for his Master. It is, in many cases, the very best advice which can be given. Still those instances, though many in the aggregate, are individually rare. In all ordinary cases, ths great danger is the other way, — of going out of ourselves, and seeking to win God's favor by outward diligence and- zeal — what we call Christian action, — while the passions of the heart remain unsubdued, and its recesses of hidden guilt unexplored. It is a great deal easier, with hearts such as ours, to give money, or to erect a church, or to exhort in a religious assembly, or to write good advice for others, than to come and humble our own selves, and to crucify the flesh with its affections and lusts. The advantage of making more direct and special efforts to induce Christians to cultivate the right spirit of piety, than to induce them to go forward in Christian action, is manifest from the consideration that warm piety in the heart will almost spontaneously go forth into Christian action, whether you urge it on or not : but the most uninterrupted and ener- getic Christian action will not necessarily produce the right state of heart. It may only foster and strengthen the bad principles of action from which it springs. Besides, the light of a pure and honest Christian character must of itself do good among men. It exerts an influence which they can not but feel, and it is an influence far more powerful than any other. Suppose we could station in any community in our country, a little band of perfect Christians, and leave them there, merely as specimens of the practical effects of Chris- 282 THE CORKER-STONE. Holy example. Unholy example. The latter common. tianity. Connect them by the ordinary pursuits of "business with the mass of society, but cut them off, if you please, from all opportunity to make direct efforts to inculcate the princi- ples of religion upon others. What an effect their simple presence would produce ! Pure, holy, harmless and unde- filed, weaned entirely from this world, and living entirely for another. Hearts warm with love to God, and ardent affec- tion for one another, and untiring benevolence toward all around them ; selfishness gone, — pride, censoriousness, resent- ment, all gone ; and instead of the base passions of human nature, the whole soul filled with the noble and generous and exalted sentiments which Christianity tends to inspire. What an influence would be exerted by such a church, even if the members of it were deprived of all those means of influence on which we ordinarily depend ; and how different would it be in its nature, from that which is now too often exerted in the towns and villages of our land, by those who have in charge the cause of the Savior there. The minister, cold and heartless, — close and selfish in his dealings during the week, — and then preaching, on the Sabbath, in the per- formance of a dull routine of duty, or to gratify the vanity of rhetorical or theological display ; — the father, worldly and selfish, — devoted, with his whole soul, to the work of making a fortune, — and now and then adding his name to a subscrip- tion, to keep up his credit as a benevolent man, or perhaps to be relieved of unpleasant importunity ; — and a mother, scolding and fretting among her children and domestics all the morning, and then decking her face in assumed and heartless smiles, or in an expression of affected solemnity, to go to a religious or charitable meeting in the afternoon. My description may seem unnecessarily severe : I hope it is so. At all events, one thing is certain, that Christians can not hope that God will bless them, and prosper his cause in their hearts, unless their hearts, are right, and their efforts in his THE PARTING COMMAND. 283 Personal influence. Its value as a means of doing good. service are made from honest desires to promote their Savior's cause. And this will not be the case, unless the spirit of religion, which is the spirit of peace, love and joy, reign habitually and incessantly at home, as well as abroad, — in retirement as well as in public : and if it really exists, it will show itself as certainly in the tone and manner with which we speak to our children, or bear the little trials of every-day life, as in the most public acts performed in the face of the world. If, then, you wish, Christian, to do any thing effectual for the Savior, look within : labor first and most constantly with your own heart, so that the light of pure religion may beam in beauty and gentleness there. The world around will see and feel its moral power. Many will be led by it, to the fountain which has purified you ; they will follow your ex- ample, they will imbibe your spirit ; and thus, while coming nearer and nearer to the Savior yourself, you will in the most effectual manner extend his kingdom. II. PEE.SONAL INFLUENCE. Aim at acquiring as strong a personal influence as possible over others. We put this next to the work of securing your own progress in holiness, because we really believe it stands next. The man whose own heart is right toward God, and who has a strong influence over others, must inevitably do a great deal toward promoting the Savior's cause. He may in many cases mistake ; he may work to disadvantage ; but he has the essentials, and to a great extent he must succeed. But let us explain what we mean by personal influence. Here are two Christians equally devoted to their Master's cause. One, however, feels that next to his responsibility for his own personal character, his highest trust is his direct in- fluence over others. This influence he will steadily endeavor both to preserve and to increase. In al] his intercourse with 284 TILE CORNER-STONE. The contrast. Repulsive piety. Its bad influence. others he endeavors to acquire their good- will. To find his way to their hearts, his benevolence is active, practical, operating at all times, and diffusing enjoyment all around him. He has regard for the rights and feelings of others, as well as for his own. He sympathizes with the difficulties and trials of those who are connected with him ; and thus, independently of the light which his character sheds around him, he is the object of strong personal regard. The other is a very different man. He cultivates the spirit of piety, and bewails his sins before God. He is ready to make even great sacrifices to do good, whenever the oppor- tunity presents : but in all the thousand little connections which bind him to society, he seems morose and stern. The ordinary kindnesses and courtesies of life, he never exhibits. He reserves his charity for masses of men, and his benevo- lence for grtat occasions. In all the ordinary dealings, in which he becomes connected from day to day with his fellows, he is harsh and unconciliating ; firm in the defense of all his rights, and inflexible in resisting every injury. He means to do what is right ; but on the line which his eye marks out as the line of rectitude, he stands firm and per- pendicular. He ought to stand thus on the line of rectitude in respect to moral principle, but not on that of justice in regard to his own interests. He never sympathizes with those who are dependent upon him. They find that he does not think of their temptations, or feel for the trials which they have to bear. If they are sick, he relieves their wants perhaps with cold propriety, but gives no evidence of com- passion, or of real good- will. Now with the same degree of piety, if it is possible for the piety to be the same in two such cases, and with the same degree of wealth, and with the same influence of standing, how different will be the amount of service which these two individuals can render to their Master. The one is connect- THE PARTING COMMAND. 286 The fault generally incurable. Unsound logic. ed, by the closest ties, to many human hearts ; and his senti- ments, his feelings, his spirit are insensibly and continually adopted by all around him. His light shines and allures. The other not only can do no good, but is constantly though insensibly doing harm. The world around consider his char- acter as illustrating the natural tendencies of religion. Many cases have occurred where a Christian of wealth and public influence has had such a character that a whole community has been seared in conscience, and alienated from the truth, by the associations which such a spectacle constantly before their eyes has led them to form. They would have disliked the purity and spirituality of religion in some degree perhaps without this, but they are led by it to dislike them still more. They are thus driven farther and farther away from God, by means of the influence of one of his friends. Such characters, too, when once formed, seem to be incur- able ; for as every mad projector defends himself against the most convincing proof of the wildness and impracticability of his schemes, by recollecting the opposition and incredulity which Columbus had to contend with, so do these Christians consider every difficulty which they incur, and every feeling of opposition which they awaken in others, as proofs of their fidelity in the cause of their Master. " He that lives godly, will suffer persecution," says the apostle ; but they read it the other way. All that suffer persecution must certainly be godly. Not very sound logic, the impartial reader will say; but any logic is souu.d enough to convince, when it is offered by interest or pride. It is the duty then of every individual, who wishes to obey the Savior's dying command, and in obedience to it, to assist his Master in spreading the reign of piety among men, to take care of his personal influence. A very large number of the readers of this work will how- ever, in all probability, attempt to place themselves out of 286 THE CORXEE.-STOXE. Supposed want of influence. Extent and power of influence. the reach of all these remarks, by saying to themselves • " This is all very true, hut it does not apply to me. I have no influence, and from the very circumstances in which Providence has placed me, I can not have any." While such readers have been perusing the preceding par- agraphs, their thoughts have been fixed upon some influential individuals whom they could call to mind, and they have con- sidered these remarks as applicable only to them, or to persons placed like them in stations of trust and responsibility in the service of G-od. Perhaps some one who reads this may wish he could apply the remarks to himself. Sometimes, perhaps, in your hour of devotion, when your heart is warmed by reflect- ing what the Savior has done for you, you sigh to reflect how little you can do in return. You wish that you had some public or general influence which you might devote to the cause of the Savior. But you are alone ; your sphere of duty is limited to the little spot in which you move from day to day. with very little influence over other minds ; so that even when you wish to do good, it seems scarcely in your power. This feeling is one which very extensively prevails ; but it is founded upon an entire mistake, hi regard to the nature of the influence which may be.' made most valuable for the purpose of promoting the Savior's cause. You think that you have no influence. You have on the contrary, in fact, a very powerful influence. It is not extensive, but it is power- ful and this distinction you overlook. Let us consider it a little. The chief magistrate of a populous city has an extensive influence. It reaches a great many minds. His plans and his measures promote or injure the interests of thousands. They are discussed, and approved or condemned, in many a little group, and thus, out of all the multitudes around him, there are verv few who do not know his name at least, if THE PARTING COMMAND. 2S7 The chief magistrate. The two friends. Mutual influence. they do not hear of his doings. The influence of what passes in that one man's mind extends, in this way, to tens of thousands. But, after all, this official influence is not very powerful in any individual case. In the aggregate, it is very powerful, — but it is an aggregate made up of very small items. Select from among the multitudes with whom he i3 daily thrown into connection, the one to whom he is bound most closely, — over whom he has the greatest ascendency ; and how great an ascendency is it ? Why, it is a tie of business. It is the influence of a slight interest in common, and the chain will remain just so long as the business and the common interest retain their hold. The power of heart over heart, in such a case, is very small. The man, from the eminence on which he is placed, holds a slight control, a feeble influence, over many thousands. We gaze at the great- ness of it, in amount, and forget how feeble it is in detail. The very child, ^returning from school with the companion of his studies and his plays, holds an ascendency and control over the heart, to a degree which the statesman or the magistrate never obtains. Now, it is influence over the heart, which is most effectual in making friends for the Savior. Suppose that two obscure and solitary individuals live to- gether in a retired dwelling among the mountains. Their pursuits, their interests, their joys, and sorrows are common. If one is cheerful and happy, the light of her smile is reflected upon the countenance of the other. If one is gloomy or im- patient, or sad, the sympathy which years have cherished, transfers the emotion to the bosom of the other. However dissimilar in disposition and character they may have been in youth, every difference is gradually diminished or destroyed. They come to be interested in the same pursuits, to fear the same evils, and to have every w T ish and every emotion com- mon. This process of assimilation goes on till the last,— and 283 THE C0RXE.1-ST0NE. Powerful but not extensive. THE FR1KNDS. when, one of them at length lies down in the grave, the other is left to mourn the loss, with a feeling of irretriev- able bereavement, to which human life can hardly afford a parallel. This, now, is a powerful influence ; — but it is not an ex- tensive one. The influence of each could extend only to the other. The world around was nothing to them. And what is peculiar in this case is, that the greatness of the ascend- ency would depend, most of all, upon the very fact that the rest of mankind were removed beyond their reach. The fact that they were nothing to all the world, was the very reason why they were so much to one another. And it is so with 03 all. The more a man's influence is extended and diffused, th3 more is it ordinarily weakened, in its bearing upon indi- viduals. The public officer, who reaches a hundred thou« THE PARTING COMMAND. 289 The child and his little brother. The Christian laborer. sand minds, reaches them all feebly ; and if you wish to find an example of the highest power exerted by one heart over another, you must seek it in the case of some one secluded from the world, and engaged in a round of duties which bring him into contact with but few. We may go farther than this, and say that there is scarce- ly an example of influence to be found, so powerful as that exerted by a little child just old enough to talk, over his little brother or sister a year or two younger than himself. He is in all things its leader, and guide, and oracle ; with perhaps more power over its heart, than the world exhibits in any other case. The little learner follows and imitates its superior in almost every thing. He goes wherever his com- panion leads, — and mimics all his actions, — and repeats, in his imperfect and broken articulation, all his words ; and he is thus led forward to almost all his knowledge, and guided, in almost the whole formation of his character, by a child, only a little older than himself, and who is almost entirely unconscious of the influence which he is thus exerting over an immortal mind. Such is the distinction between the extent, and the indi- vidual power of influence, and it does not require much rea- soning to show which is most efficient as a means of promot- ing the salvation of souls. Piety is a feeling of the heart, and he who would promote it, must gain access to the heart. Consequently, the more direct the access in the individual case, the greater is the prospect of success. A Christian laborer who is employed day after day by an irreligious man, has a far greater influence over him in a religious point of view, than the chief magistrate of the country can have. The laborer must have a great influence in the formation of the religious character of his employer. If he is gentle and benevolent, and of unbending integrity and faithfulness, and if it appears that these traits of character spring from his N 290 THE CORNEE.-STONE. None too young to do good. Influence over brothere and Christian principle, the example thus set will speak with an eloquence which words can seldom equal. Perhaps this chapter is read by some one who has been ac- customed to consider himself too young to do any good. You look around you, and see others enjoying opportunities of making direct efforts in the Savior's cause, and you think that if you should enjoy such a privilege, you would highly prize it. " Had I but a class in a Sabbath-school," you say, " how happy should I be to endeavor to lead my pupils to the Savior." You have not, indeed, a class in the Sabbath-school, but you have a little sister who is infinitely more under your in- fluence than any class of Sabbath-school children could be. You would see the class only on the Sabbath, and then but for an hour, — that too, in a crowded room, and among mul- titudes of strangers. Your brother and your sister, however, are with you every day. They come to you for assistance in a thousand difficulties, and for guidance in all their per- plexities and cares. You can see them at all times ; you can watch for opportunities to interest and attract them ; you can help them to forsake their sins, and to watch against temptation, by being at all times at hand ; and, above all, you can set them a constant example of the power of piety in making your own conduct what it ought to be, and your own heart peaceful and happy. Now the influence which you thus may possess is altogether greater than you could have as a Sabbath-school teacher. It is not so extensive, but it is more powerful in the individual case ; and this is what is to be considered in judging of the opportunity you have to do good. Improve first the little field which Providence has put so entirely into your power, before you look forward to wider spheres. There is not now a Christian on the globe who has not a very powerful influence of the kind which I have described, THE PARTING COMMAND. 291 Every Christian has an influence. Effect of universal fidelity. over one, two, or more minds around him. Providence has placed us all in connection with our fellow-beings in such a way that we must exert a great influence upon the formation of their characters. The power which we thus hold is far greater than we suppose, and until all within the circle of our acquaintance, however narrow that circle may be, are devoted and happy Christians, we must never say, and never feel that God has placed us in circumstances in which we have nothing to do for him. It is on these principles, and for such purposes, that every individual Christian should labor to deepen and extend the influence in his hands ; and it is by means of this, mainly, that he is to aim at building up the Savior's kingdom. If every one would be faithful, in the sphere in which Provi- dence has placed him, the most astonishing effects would be immediately witnessed. Suppose that every Christian were to come up at once to his duty as a follower of Christ, re- nounce the world entirely, search his heart, and cultivate, by every means in his power, his own spiritual progress, — and then devote himself to the work of doing good in the narrow sphere of his own personal influence. There would be no splendid conquests achieved by any one ; but by the united efforts of all, the work would go on with universal and almost inconceivable power. No one who knows the effect of holi- ness, when it appears in living and acting reality, in arrest- ing attention and alarming the conscience, and in winning those who witness it to penitence and faith, can doubt that each individual who should thus live might hope to be the means of bringing one, two, three, or four, every year, to the service of his Master ; and to double or treble or quadruple the church in a year, would be progress which would soon change the face of things in such a world as this. This is the way undoubtedly, that the principles of the 292 THE CORNEE.-STONE. Future spread of the gospel. Study of human nature. gospel are ultimately to spread in the world, through the in« fluence of the lives and efforts of private Christians. I speak of course, now, of those countries where Christianity has nominal possession. Private Christians look far too much away from themselves, to ministers and missionaries, and Bibles and tracts, — and imagine that their business is merely to sustain the efforts made through these means. The far more valuable and powerful influence, which might be brought to bear upon a world lying in sin, from the light of religion in the hearts and lives of the great mass of believers, is lost sight of, and forgotten. But it is the church which is the pillar and ground of the truth. It is the great mass of disciples, which are the light of the world. Or rather it is they who ought to be ; for a cold and worldly church, in- stead of being the pillar of the truth, is a millstone about its neck. Instead of casting around them the beams of heav- enly light, its members shed abroad a darkness and a gloom which there is nothing to dispel. Be careful, then, not only to watch your own progress in piety, but to seek influence over your fellow-men, — the influ- ence of heart over heart ; and as far as you secure it, conse- crate it all honestly and sincerely to the cause of Christ. III. THE STUDY OF HUMAN NATURE. Carefully study the powers and tendencies of the human soul, especially in its religious aspects, and be prepared to act intelligently in all that you do in attempting to influence the heart. Most sad mistakes are made in this respect, by many religious men, who make efforts blindly, and without consideration, as if they imagined that religious truth was to accomplish its object by some mere mechanical power which it possesses, and as if it were of no consequence how it is ap- plied. In order to avoid this evil, it is necessary to consider, be THE PARTING COMMAND. 293 Mistakes often made. Example of Paul. His preaching. fore we attempt to act upon any heart, what is the real effect which we wish to produce upon it, and then to adapt our means to the production of the effect. Many persons err very widely in this respect. A teacher, for example, offers a prize to be awarded to the pupil who will commit to memory the greatest number of verses in the Bible. Emulation and jealous rivalry immediately take possession of the class, and reign supreme. But the verses are committed. The boys are indefatigable in their efforts, and if committing verses in the Bible was the ultimate object in view, and was to be ac- complished at any sacrifice, the plan might be considered triumphantly successful. But committing passages of Scrip- ture is not the end : it is only the means to an end. That end is the moral renewal of the heart, and it is defeated en- tirely by the mode taken to secure it. Again, a religious man goes to converse with an unbe- liever. I do not mean one who openly rejects Christianity as a whole, but who denies its fundamental truths, and lives in sin, sheltered by his unbelief. Now the proper object of a conversation with him is not to convince his intellect, but to awaken his conscience. The difficulty is not with the un- derstanding, but with the heart ; and instead of wasting time in a fruitless attempt, by argument, to force upon his mind evidence which he is fully determined not to see, the true policy is to bring up, gently but clearly, questions of duty, based on what he admits to be true. The Apostle Paul understood this principle, and practised upon it most perfectly. He adapted his discourses most adroitly to the condition and wants of his auditory. When he reasoned before Felix, it was upon righteousness, temper- ance, and judgment to come ; topics which his distinguished hearer could appreciate and understand. He based his ad- dresses to the Jews on the sentiments of their own Scriptures. At Athens he endeavored to awaken the conscience by ap- 294 THE CORNER-STONE. Mistakes of Christians. Guides in the study. The Bible. Observation. pealing to the few simple truths which his hearers there could not deny ; and in his epistles to the Christian church, he went at once into all the sublime and mysterious truths which are revealed by the full light of the Christian dispen- sation. He studied human nature, and adapted what he had to say to the moral condition and wants of those whom he addressed ; always making it his great object to awaken the slumbering conscience by the highest truths which his audience were prepared to understand. In their efforts to promote the cause of religion, Christians often act as if they imagined that the great object was to bring truth before the mind, whereas the real difficulty is to gain influence for what is already there. The work which we have to do is to touch the heart, not to pour cold light upon the reason. Now to awaken warm feeling in the heart is unquestionably the province of the Spirit of God. We can not effect it alone, but we may adapt our efforts to this de- sign, and at all events, we may so manage them as not to thwart or oppose it. The reverse is often the fact. Many and many a time is religious truth presented to a mind in such a manner, and accompanied by such attending circum- stances, as to destroy its effect. The various ways by which this is done can not in such a chapter as this be pointed out. What we wish is to put the Christian on his guard, that he may watch his plans and methods, and see that he does not defeat his own designs. The proper guides, in such a study of the human heart, are the Bible and observation, not theoretical books. Per- haps a very large proportion of those who make human character a study at all, go first to theoretical writers for general views, and then just look into the conduct of men for Die mere purpose of finding illustrations or proofs of them. They never go into the field as independent observers, ready to notice whatever they may see, and to leave it to fell its THE PARTING COMMAND. 295 Books. Theories. Theological notions. own plain story. Certain facts, which accord with theii adopted theories, stand out in bold and prominent relief, while others are overlooked or forgotten ; or if they are too conspicuous to be completely disregarded, they are warped and twisted to suit the false conceptions of the mind. Such a course, besides fixing error, is an insurmountable barrier to progress. We notice and speculate upon human conduct just so far as the ground is covered by our theological or metaphysical opinions, and beyond that we do not go. Books, and the opinions of great men on human nature, may perhaps be guides, but they never should be trammels and barriers. The field of observation is open before all ; and Christianity, while it gives us the noblest work to do, gives us also the loftiest science to study. It puts, too, all the means and opportunities for observation fully before us, and says in spirit, " You have a world of mind around you, open to your influence and accessible to your observation. Make it your great study to understand it, and your great work to bring it home to God." In regard, however, to the study of human nature, the difficulty with most persons is not that they do not make any observations of their own, but. that they do not connect the results which they obtain by such observation with their religious knowledge. Most men have in fact two entirely distinct and independent sets of ideas in regard to human character. One, obtained from metaphysical and theological speculations, and the other from their own intercourse with men in the common business and pursuits of life. These two classes of ideas too, they keep distinct and separate. On the Sabbath, and when reading religious books, or thinking of the human soul in its theological aspects and relations, they take one view, and in the ordinary business of life they take another ; and the knowledge of human nature, and the skill in influencing it, which men so easily acquire in the 296 THE CORNER-STONE. Want of skill. Careful study latter case, very rarely extends itself to the former. It accordingly very often happens, that a man will display an unusual share of discrimination and delicacy of touch, so to speak, in operating on the minds around him in respect to the common affairs of the community, or to opinions and customs relating to ordinary life, while he is awkward, rough, and unsuccessful in every thing like the exertion of religious influence. Here, he seems to act on new and independent principles. He throws all the knowledge and skill which had proved itself so valuable in the other case utterly aside, and proceeds, if indeed he proceeds at all, in a blind, mechanical, and formal manner, which is as unsuccess- ful in religion as it would be in any thing else. In truth, a great portion of the religious community would acknowledge, if they would be honest, that they do not con- sider the exertion of religious influence as coming under the ordinary rules which should regulate the action of mind upon mind. They justly attribute all hope of final success to a divine influence upon the heart ; but this, though it assigns a large part of the work to a higher power, does not at all alter the nature of the other part of it, which remains committed to us. We should always consider then, when making any efforts to bring a friend or a neighbor or a child to God, whether we should take a similar course, or at least one based on similar principles, or similar views of human nature, to accomplish any other change in his feelings or conduct. Be careful also to make every experiment and effort, a means of increasing your stock of knowledge of the human mind, and of its tendencies and movements in respect to reli- gious feeling. Watch the operation of causes and the nature of effects. Look into the Bible for a standard of religious duty, and for correct views of the nature and obligation of God's law ; and then look into the wide field of action and THE PARTING COMMAND. 297 Use of property. Claims of Christianity. character, which is developing itself all around you, and seek practical knowledge of man there. When # you fail of pro- ducing a desired effect, investigate the cause of your failure ; when causes from which you would have looked for one result, produce a different or contrary one, examine the case and ascertain the difficulty. When success attends your efforts, analyze them with care, to discover what were the essential conditions of success. In this way you can not hut make progress, and it is not at all necessary that acting thus faith- fully and skillfully in doing your work, should lead you at all to undervalue the necessity of most efficient and con- tinued help from above. IV. USE OF PROPERTY. The Christian religion takes higher ground in respect to human duty than any pretended message from heaven ever dared to assume, and it makes claims, which for boldness and authority stand entirely without a parallel. Its theory is substantially this : That it is the great design of Jehovah to establish an universal kingdom of benevolence, and conse- quent happiness : — that this kingdom has been, in this world, overturned and destroyed ; and that all who wish its restora- tion are to come and give themselves wholly to the work of promoting it. He does not require men to devote a part of their time, and a part of their property, to his purposes, leav- ing them to employ the rest for themselves. He claims the whole, — or rather he invites men to come and consecrate the whole to the work of co-operation with him. He allows no distinction between his property and ours. He makes no specification of the amount of time, or the extent of influence, which we should devote to his cause : but, on the other hand, he most distinctly says, that as he is devoting all his energies, and employing all his time, in the promotion of universal holiness and happiness, he expects all who wish to be con- N* 298 THE CORKER-STONE. Common question. Case supposed. sidered on his side to come and devote all theirs to this work too. The question is very often asked, " What proportion of a man's income ought to be devoted to charitable purposes ?" But the question itself seems to rest on an entire misconcep- tion of the nature of the claim which God makes upon men. It may have either of two meanings. In the first place, the inquirer may mean to ask, what proportion of his means of doing good in this world ought to be devoted to his Master's service, and what to his own : — or, on the other hand, it may mean this : when all that a man has, is consecrated to God, what proportion of his means of influence should he employ himself, and what portion should he commit to others to em- ploy, in his Master's service, — for it will he seen by a very slight examination, that when money is given for a charitable pur- pose, it is generally a method of sustaining others in the work of doing good, instead of doing it directly ourselves. Now in the first of these two significations, the question is evi dently based on erroneous views. God will admit of no such division of the heart, nor of the powers, of his creatures. In the second, the question must be unanswerable ; that is, it can receive no general answer, for the courses to be taken in respect to it are as various as the conditions and circum- stances of men. But let us analyze a little more accurately the real nature of doing good by means of money. It is called giving, but strictly speaking it is not giving. It is simply a combina- tion of men in one place, to produce a certain moral effect in another ; and money is made use of, as the mere instru- ment by which the object is accomplished. This we shall easily see, by looking at a particular case. To make the reasoning the more simple, we will suppose a case which would never precisely occur, but we can easily apply the principles which it illustrates to ordinary instances. THE PARTING COMMAND. 299 The rude Islanders. Ways of reaching them. Various plans. We will suppose that, on some rude and inhospitable coast, remote from the fertile and wealthy regions of the civilized world, there is a community of hardy settlers, who are de- voted and consistent Christians. They enjoy religious privi- leges themselves, and at length they form the wish to do something for the ignorant and vicious inhabitants of a small island, a few miles from their coast. They are themselves dependent upon their daily exertions for their daily bread, and consequently, though they can all, besides discharging the duties they owe to their families, and to the poor around them, find an hour or two in each day, which they can de- vote to God's service in some foreign field, no one of them can gain time enough to go away from home, to visit the destitute islanders. Now there are evidently two ways by which they can surmount the difficulty. Any one of them can lay by the proceeds of his labor during those hours which are not required in the discharge of his duties at home, until he has accumulated stores sufficient to supply his family and himself during the time necessary for making a visit to the island. The other plan is, for all to combine, and send one of their number, by uniting their labors, during those extra hours, to provide support for the one thus sent. Let us sup- pose the latter plan to be adopted ; and to make the case more distinct, we will imagine that one particular hour is assigned at which, during each day, all who remain at home shall be at work for the family of the one who was selected to go. When the hour for this labor arrives, the missionary is perhaps at the island, explaining to the inhabitants the nature of religion, and the claims of duty, while his friends and neighbors at home are each, in his own little garden, laboring to provide food and clothing for their absent brothei and for his lonely family. They are all at work together, and in one common cause. They are not, indeed, all in im- mediate connection with the souls for whose benefit the enter- 300 TILE CORNER-STONE. Co-operation. Money. Its nature as a means of doing good. prise was planned, out they who are at home, laboring to sustain the absent one, are as really and effectually operating upon the distant island, as he who has gone. They are all engaged in one common enterprise, for the promotion of God's cause, each doing his assigned part. Neither is giving to the other, — unless indeed he who goes can claim some gratitude from the rest, for having assumed the severer and more try- ing portion. Now money is only a representative of the proceeds of labor, and if, instead of sending out to their missionary the provisions and clothing that he would need when engaged in his enterprise, his Christian friends at home should convert those provisions and clothing into the form of money, and send them to him in that form, it would not alter the case. They would still all be laborers in one common cause, differ- ent parts assigned to each, but all laboring together to spread the gospel, according to the command of their Master. Nor would the case be altered, if instead of working for this pur- pose at some specified time, each one was to labor when he pleased, in carrying forward this cause ; nor is it essential that such labors should be kept distinct from the ordinary labors of the day. All these incidental circumstances may be almost endlessly varied, without at all altering the real nature of the transaction, considered as a combination among many Christians to effect a moral impression on human souls, each taking his own appropriate part, but all engaged to- gether, and all responsible directly to God. Such substantially is, in all cases, the nature of the em- ployment of money in spreading the gospel. One man by his own unaided efforts can not give the Bible to a nation, or Dreach the gospel in a half-civilized province, or upon an island of tawny savages, half round the globe. There must be a great combination to effect objects which are so great, compared with the narrow limits of individual power. In THE PARTING COMMAND. 301 Examples of its power. this great combination, the various individuals have entirely different parts to perform, but all are really united in heart, and all their separate and distinct labors tend to the accom- plishment of one common result. Money is made use of as the instrument, but it is only an instrument for bringing all these scattered labors to bear on the proper point. In the great union, too, no one is under obligation to the others The account is between each individual and God How wonderful are the results secured by the contrivances and arts of life. A soli- tary widow, in her home among the dis- tant forests, knits an hour or two at her lonely fireside, in order to contribute her little share to the spread of the gospel ; her work tells on the minds of savages ten thousand miles from her humble dwelling. A farmer's children cultivate a lit- tle piece of ground in their father's garden, and change its products in the autumn for a dollar. It passes from their hands and they see it no more ; but in a few months, the magic metal comes out in the shape of a thousand pages of the word of God, and lives for half a century to tell its message to the benighted people of some foreign land. A timid, and retiring, and fearful daughter of Zion wishes to do something for her Master, and she industriously plies her need.e during the long winter evenings of a single season, and THE WIDOW. 302 THE CORNER-STONE. Radiant points of piety. a few months afterward, in consequence of it, a miserable and suffering child, whom she never saw, in a country which she has scarcely heard of, is told that he can be clothed, and fed, and taught, through the instrumentality of a love which has reached half round the globe to bring him relief from his misery. It is important to be noticed here, too, that in one respect, the more remote from ourselves is the place where we can make any moral impression, the more valuable it will be ; for piety, when pure, tends, from its very nature, to spread and propagate itself, and therefore, from every point among the population of this world, at which we can once give it a foot- ing, we may hope it will extend in a wider and wider circle. It is a light which will be the more universally diffused, the more its radiant points are multiplied. And yet no error can possibly be more fatal than for a Christian to suppose that he could atone for the want of heartfelt and efficient piety in his own quiet sphere, by magnificent plans of remote and doubtful good. The first duty of every follower of the Savior is, unquestionably, as we have already shown, at home, — in his own inmost soul ; — his next, in his own narrow circle of personal influence. These posts must be guarded well by every Christian, or else piety will soon lose the little hold she has in the world. But maintaining a high standard of Chris- tian feeling and action in the small circle in which the indi- vidual immediately moves, not only may not be inconsistent with extensive and wide-spreading benevolence, but it can not be. Looking at a distance and planning with reference to remote and unseen results will not only not interfere with the progress of piety in the heart, but if such efforts are made with honest sincerity, they will be the most effectual means of promoting it. But then they must be made in the right spirit. The attempt to carry influence in the ways that we have described, to other countries, must spring from honest THE PARTING COMMAND. 303 Sincere motives. Piety begins at home. desires to co-operate with God. It is this co-operation, and the moral effect at which it ought to aim, that must be the great stimulus to action, and the pleasure of heing a co- worker with God must he the reward ; or else such labors will only improve and strengthen the spiritual pride, or the love of ostentation and display, from which they spring. We have thus clearly before us, the nature of the trust committed to the members of the Christian church of every name ; it is a charge to spread the Gospel as soon as possible throughout the globe. We are to consider ourselves as not our own, in any sense, but wholly the Lord's, and to regard it as our highest happiness to be permitted to identify our- selves eatirely with the progress of his cause. We are to look very watchfully and very faithfully within ; for the best way to make religion spread is to keep it pure. We are to do every thing that we can to diffuse enjoyment and to in- crease the influences of holiness in the little circle in which we immediately move ; and we are to look abroad over the whole field which human beings occupy, saying with our hearts and with our hands, " Thy kingdom come." To these duties we should be devoted entirely. Every thing should be subsidiary to them : as we can find no true happi- ness but in such a work, so we should make no reservations, but consecrate every thing to it, and so identify ourselves with it, as to have no separate interests whatever. The share of attention which each of these various departments of the great work of spreading the Gospel should in each individual case receive, will of course depend upon the cir- cumstances of each, but together they should monopolize the heart, and be the object of every hour's exertion. All this is very good theory, perhaps the reader may say, but who lives on these principles in practice ? Yery few, it must be admitted, but still there are some who do. The early Christians did, and by means of the example and the 304 THE CORNER-STONE. Success certain. Important trust committed to Christians. efforts which arose from their unreserved consecration of themselves to the cause of God in this world, the principles of Christianity spread with almost inconceivable rapidity, and their progress was not checked until worldliness came in to corrupt the hearts of pretended servants of God, and to de- troy all the moral power of piety. A long, dark night en- sued, and we yet scarcely see much more than the dawn which follows it. But the success which has attended the faint and feeble efforts which the church has made within the last century, show most conclusively that nothing but de- voted piety in the church, and the efforts which must inevi- tably spring from it, is wanting, to bring back this world to its Maker, — and that, too, without any very long delay. It is, perhaps, one of the most mysterious features of divine government, that God has made human souls so dependent upon one another ; but though it seems hard for those who must wait unblessed with the light of knowledge and pure religion until we send it to them, to be left thus, apparently at the mercy of a few unfaithful pretenders to piety, we can easily see how kind to us it is for our Maker to repose in us such a trust and to assign to us such a duty. To give man such an enterprise as this, as the object of his life, exalts and ennobles him. It takes him out of the narrow circle of self- ishness, and raises him at once above the groveling pursuits of sin, and gives him an object worthy the powers of an im- mortal spirit. "We feel, if we engage in it, linked by a com- mon sympathy with all that is great and good in the mighty universe of God ; and yet, thus raised, thus exalted as we are, by the moral grandeur of the cause which we are per- mitted to espouse, there is no place for pride. We feel the lofty emotions which our work inspires, on account of the moral greatness of the principles which it is its object to dif- fuse, and the boundlessness of the field over which they are to be extended, and the countless variety and lofty mora] THE PARTING COMMAND. 305 Sublimity of the Christian's work. Religious discussion. and intellectual rank of the beings who sympathize with u or who work by our side, — and the certainty of ultimate ana v riumphant success. These are the sources of those emotions with which the Christian's bosom swells, when he really comes and gives himself wholly up to his Master's work ; his own private and personal share in results so vast dwindles into insignificance, and pride has no soil to which its roots can cling. Man thus, by linking himself with God, and giv- ing himself wholly to His work, enjoys the elevation and the happiness of greatness, and is saved from its dangers and sins. V. RELIGIOUS DISCUSSION. We place this title among the subjects brought before the reader in this chapter, rather with the design of excluding than of including it. It is a very doubtful means of doing good. Skill in disputation is a weapon very commonly em- ployed ; far too commonly ; and our design now is to show its nature, and what may fairly be expected from it, and especially to define those limits and restrictions to which such efforts to act upon the mind ought to be subjected. Let the reader understand, however, while reading the remarks on this sub- ject, that, like the rest of this work, they are addressed to common Christians, sustaining the ordinary relations and con- nections of society. Learned men have sometimes devoted their lives to the work of placing on record the evidences which their researches have furnished, of the truth and di- vine authority of the Scriptures, or of the nature of the truths they reveal ; and the works thus produced have been among the strongest bulwarks of Christian faith. Our plan does not lead us to say any thing of efforts like these : it confines us to the attempts continually made to remove religious error, by argument and discussion, in the common intercourse of life ; attempts which under certain circumstances are wise and successful : under others they are far worse than useless. 306 THE CORNER-STONE. Early associations. Instances. Religious discussion has its sole foundation in real or sup- posed religious error ; and the nature of religious error is very little understood. Let us look at some of its sources. 1. One great source of erroneous impressions, on all sub- jects, is the power of influences exerted in early life, and which are sometimes so strong as utterly to bid defiance to all argument. Every one has observed the permanency of these early impressions of early life in such cases as the fol- lowing. A child was once terrified, when very young, by sud- denly seeing a snake as it was playing in the grass ; and up to the age of twenty, he retained an unconquer- able aversion to the animal, so that his companions used to torment him by forcing upon his observation 'pictures of snakes, — which would over- whelm him in an agony of terror and suf- fering. Another was carried to see a man who was shock- ingly mangled by an accidental explosion, in blasting rocks, — and fifteen years did not obliterate the impression. During all the years of childhood and youth, the effects of gunpowder, in every form, were a continual terror to him. Now will you endeavor to overcome such feelings by argument ? Will you attempt to prove ^to these terrified young men that a THE HARMLESS SERPENT. THE PARTING COMMAND. 307 Religious antipathies ; beyond the reach of argument. picture can not bite, or that the flash of a little squib can not endanger them ? But the reader will say that these are mere antipathies ; they are not of the nature of erroneous convictions enter- tained by the understanding. So it is with a very large proportion of the dislike to religion, and the disbelief of its truths, which prevails in the world ; it is mere antipathy, and not deliberate conviction. The cases just adduced to illustrate it, are certainly strong ones ; but every man who will pause a moment to reflect, must see that a child, brought up under the influence of such associations as are in many families connected with the religious opinions of those who disagree with them, must inevitably, if human nature is consistent with itself, form such an antipathy. The antipa- thy may have men, or it may have opinions, for its objects, but in either case argument, as a corrective, would be utterly thrown away. It would not only be entirely insufficient to produce a change, but it would scarcely have any tendency to produce one. A sufficient allowance is not made for this by the opposite parties in a religious controversy. If one generation takes sides violently, on any question, they inevitably entail the quarrel. Their children have scarcely the opportunity to judge for themselves. The laws of the human mind almost compel them to feel as their fathers felt ; for it becomes in such cases, a matter of feeling rather than opinion. No one, therefore, ought ever to cherish a harsh or an unkind thought toward any one, on account of his religious errors, if his father led the way. This influence of early associations has more power than all other causes put together, in the formation of religious opinions. The children of Mahometans become Mahomet- ans themselves, without arguments in favor of the Prophet ; and in the Christian world religious opinions are hereditary. 308 THE CORNER-STONE. Opinions hereditary. Irreligion the cause of error. and pass down with exceptions comparatively few and rare, from father to son ; so that Popery, and Protestantism, Epis- copacy and Dissent, and Presbyterian, Baptist, and Methodist opinions occupy, in the main, the same ground from genera- tion to generation. It is true, indeed, that argument has something to do with this, for though every faith has its defenders, to which all have access, still each child hears chiefly the voice of the one which its father chooses for it. But, notwithstanding this, every intelligent observer of the human mind, and especially of the habits and susceptibilities of childhood, will at once admit, that other influences than those of argument are the efficient ones, in the production of these almost universal effects. Let no one infer from these undeniable facts, that men are not accountable for the exercise of their reason in respect to their relations to God. They are accountable. The fact that men follow on so blindly after their parents in this, more than in any other case, is an indication of the cold indifference of the human heart to its religious duty. Parents can not con- trol their children's opinions and preferences, on other points, so completely ; and they could not here, were not the heart so cold, so indifferent, so benumbed in respect to God. When the conscience is aroused, these chains are immediately broken, and the soul goes free to think for itself, and to throw away its shackles forever. It may escape slowly from their thraldom, but escape it will, if any real penitence and any real love to God can find a place in the heart. So that what is justly to be inferred from these views, is not that men who are in error, are innocent, but that they are no more guilty than those who believe the truth, and yet live in sin. A thousand children, growing up without God, are all guilty for thus living in disobedience to his will ; but if they do thus live, the question of their religious belief is not of much consequence as an indication of their real characters. Their THE PARTING COMMAND. 309 One great distinction. Influence of feelings. Instances. belief is probably almost a matter of mere accident ; so that, as to their characters, it makes no great difference who is right and wrong in theory. Their guilt consists in their im- penitence, which is common to them all, not in their errors, in which, from accidental circumstances, each may differ from the rest. When we look around therefore upon society we should make one great distinction in estimating human character, and that is, between those who love God and those who love him not ; and we must remember that from the very fact that the latter class do not love duty, they will make no honest effort themselves, to learn what it is. They all drink in whatever is offered to them in childhood. Some are right, and some are wrong ; but, as we have seen, accident has been most instrumental in deciding the question in each case, and ungodliness is the common foundation on which all stand. Induce them to abandon sin, and to return to God in any respect, and their eyes will be opened. Act upon the heart first, and the intellect will rectify itself afterward ; though it will be by steps too hesitating and slow for our impatience to tolerate, unless we have considered, more attentively than most persons have done, the extreme and almost unconquerable reluctance with which the power of early associations relinquishes its hold. The first source of religious error then, is, the power of these associations of early childhood, which reasoning never formed, and which she is utterly incompetent to overthrow. 2. Another very common source of error on all subjects, and especially in religion, is the bias of mind produced by the influence of the feelings. The danger of such a bias is universally understood in common life, and is guarded against, in many cases, with great care. Whenever a contention arises between two individuals, the friends and connections 310 THE CORNER-STONE. Tho contention. The consumptive patient. Bias in religion. of the respective combatants, with the same facts before their eyes, and guided professedly by the same principles of right and wrong, form directly opposite opinions, and each party adheres to the, views which mere feeling has produced, with inflexible pertinacity. So when any new speculation or plan of improvement is agitated in any community, each man will take sides on the question, just as his interests would be affected by the results. In the former of these cases it is personal attachment, in the latter, pecuniary interest, which constitutes the bias ; but any other emotion may produce the same effect. We may mention one other case, which, though common, is melancholy and affecting in the extreme. How often will an unhappy man, conscious that he is unprepared for death, sink into the last stages of a lingering disease, steeled against all sense of the danger which he does not wish to see. His hectic cheek, and gradually sinking powers might give him most certain evidence that he is drawing near to the grave ; but he shuts his eyes to every indication of his danger. Just because he wishes and hopes to be re- stored to health, he resolutely persists in believing that resto- ration is before him. The delusion, a very happy one, so far as its exhilarating power tends to sustain him under his final sufferings, but very melancholy in its tendency to keep him from finding peace with God, — clings to him to the last ; and he sinks under the very hand of death, with an unwavering but baseless confidence that health and happiness are soon to return. This tendency of the human mind is universally known ; every man, in consequence of it, almost instinctively distrusts the opinions of others, where their feelings or their interests are involved in the question ; and a wise man, under such circumstances, will distrust his own. Perhaps there is no class of subjects on which men are more in danger from this source, than those connected wit) THE PARTING COMMAND. 311 Sources of bias. Remedies. Inefficacy of argument. religion. The various interpretations which are given to the declarations of the Bible affect very considerably their force, in respect to the degree of restraint they impose upon human desires, and to the amount of sacrifice which they require in the service of God. A great reason, therefore, in many cases, why men can not see the evidence of a particular truth, is the practical consequences which flow from it. We see this very clearly in those cases where certain abstract views of duty relate more or less directly to the common pursuits of life, so as to interfere with the business of one man, while they leave that of another untouched. The former will make great opposition to that which, in the view of the other is most obviously and unquestionably true. Now in some- such cases, where great and obvious principles of common morality are concerned, the proper course undoubtedly is, tc throw such a blaze of light upon the subject as to force the guilty perseverer in sin to see his duty. In regard, however to what are more strictly called religious truths, mere argu ment in such cases is of little avail. A man, for instance, has fully determined to live in sin. and perhaps in vice. He does what he knows to be wrong from day to day, though conscience, not wholly silenced, murmurs feebly in those hours of solitude which he can not wholly avoid, — warning him of the danger of a judgment to come. He at length is almost accidentally told that there is no future retribution. His mind springs spontaneously into the belief of it. He needs no argument. He may indeed listen to a few reasons, for the purpose of laying them up as weapons of defense, but his own belief is, after all, founded on his feelings. Now argument and discussion with such a man will ordinarily do no good. While he appears to listen to you he is only planning his own reply. Reasoning hag not placed him in his entrenchment, and reasoning can not drive him from it. Must he then, the reader may ask, be 312 THE CORNER-STONE. Hard to acknowledge error. The remedy. left hopelessly ? No. The truth has an ally and an advo- cate in his own breast, which, though he may have silenced it. he can not destroy ; and our hope of success is in making its warning voice heard again. Bring duty before him ; lead him to see that he disobeys God, and that his expected im- punity can be no excuse for sin. If he can but see that he is a sinner, he will go to the Bible, and that will set him right about the future consequences of sin. The cases which we have considered thus far are those m which the mind is led to reject what is true, because the truth is in itself unpleasant, on account of the practical duties which rest upon it ; but the mind is very often blinded in a little different way. Men are often kept in error, not because they have any special objection to the truth itself, or to the practical consequences in general which result from it, but because they are unwilling to acknowledge that they have been in the wrong. A man who has always been on one side, and is so universally regarded, can not admit that he has been mistaken, without feeling mortification himself, and ex- citing the ill-will of others. Light however comes in, which he secretly perceives is sufficient to show him that he has been wrong ; but he turns his eye away from it, because he instinctively feels what must inevitably follow from its ad- mission. These and similar causes act so universally, that the power of reasoning and argument in changing the religious opinions of men is exceedingly circumscribed. If men were willing to perceive the truth, we should have nothing to do but to prove to them what it is ; but proof is so abundant every- where, that it will of course come to the soul as fast as it is ready and willing to receive it. The first thing then, gene- rally, is to get men into the path of duty. They all have truth enough to enlighten the beginning of it, — and more light will certainly shine upon it as they go on. THE PARTING COMMAND. 313 Useless disputes. Language misunderstood. Human character. There is, however, a vast amount of useless discussion arising from religious differences, which the foregoing heads of remark will not explain. They who are in some degree willing to abandon sin, and do their duty, still see many sub- jects in very different lights, and become involved in endless disputes respecting them. Some of the more common sources of such profitless controversies come next in our enumeration. 3. Disputes founded on difference in the understanding of language. Take, for example, human character. There is no field more open to human observation than this, and per- haps there are few subjects in regard to the facts of which, men are more universally agreed ; and yet there is scarcely any one which has given rise to more endless discussions. In their practical dealings with mankind, it is plain that intelligent men of all parties take substantially the same views of human conduct and character. They who, in the argument, have the lowest views of the natural character, are not more suspicious or severe in practice than others ; and those who speak most highly of the native purity and the spontaneous virtues of the human heart, are not thrown off their guard by their theories. As to the facts, there is, and there can be, scarcely any disagreement. We all know how men think and feel about G-od, and on what principles they act in relation to one another. No company of bank directors, or board of managers, or cabinet council, probably ever differed very seriously in respect to the success of pro- posed measures, on account of the difference of their views in respect to the character and the tendencies of human nature. They may belong to very different denominations, and may have expressed their views in theory, in conflicting language, but when they leave theory, they have no difficulty about the facts. I speak, of course, here of questions about human charac- 314 THE CORNER-STONE. Naturo of disputes about it. Misunderstanding. ter as it is, not about the feelings with which God regards it ; this is evidently a different point, and one in which disagree- ment would not necessarily affect the practice, in the com- mon business of life. But any real difference in respect to the actual extent of the depravity of the heart would affect this practice. Now notwithstanding all the disputes with which mankind have been agitated on this subject, there is harmony when they come to act. The disputes are at once forgotten ; men of the most opposite theoretical views work side by side, differing in nothing except that they who have had the most extensive experience are most completely on their guard. Now how happens it that under such circumstances there should be such a perpetual dispute when there can be after all but little real disagreement ? Of course, I refer here, as has been remarked before, to a disagreement about the ac- tual principles by which human nature is controlled, and not to the view which God takes of these principles. How can there be such a disagreement ? The explanation is that the terms employed in the discussion convey to different individ- uals very different ideas. One party understands the lan- guage used by the other, in describing human character, as implying moral perversion so complete, that the heart would take delight in promoting suffering, and would love moral evil, in all cases, on its own account, rather than moral good. They would expect to see it hating one being because he is merciful, and another because he is faithful and true. They would expect men with such characters as they sup- pose the language in question to imply, would abhor justice and mercy, and benevolence, not in those particular cases « merely where the operation of these principles come into col- lision with their own interest, but in the abstract, and uni- versally. They would expect to 'see them applauding cruelty, and admiring black ingratitude, and carrying their principles THE PARTING COMMAND. 315 Dispute grounded on misunderstanding. Ambiguity of common words. out into practice by devising misery for all around them, merely for the pleasure of witnessing it, and bestowing a double share of their malignity upon those who had been most friendly to them. Such a character as this is what one class of persons under- stand by the language used, and in the dispute they merely maintain that such depravity as this is not the actual char- acteristic of mankind. Nobody believes that it is, but the dispute goes on, one party contending for one view, and the other opposing not the opinion of their antagonist, but a totally different one ; one which seems equally preposterous to both. If they should come to an explanation, the chief question would be, simply by what terras they should de- scribe what every body sees, and what their practice proves that they see substantially alike. "When we come even to such terms as can, will, freedom, punishment, unity, person, sin, affections, and a hundred others, which are the perpetual topics of religious controversy, though they are plain and explicit enough in common use, they have various shades of signification as terms in a meta- physical argument. These shades can not be defined ; they elude all attempts to fix them, and yet they very seriously af- fect the views a man will form of the proposition into which they enter ; and many and many a time controversialists have found, after a long discussion, that they had misunder- stood each other from the beginning. Take, for instance, the first word of the foregoing list. It seems a very simple word, and one that is very generally un- derstood. So it is, as far as it is necessary for popular use. But any person may convince himself that when used for other purposes, it is not understood alike, by making this experiment. On some occasions, when ten, or twenty, or more individuals, not accustomed to metaphysical specula- tions, are together, propose this question : " Can any one of 316 THE CORNER-STONE. Proposed question, and dispute arising from it. the company go and lie down in a burning fire ? Consider- ing all the circumstances of the case, the nature of fire, his dislike of pain, his sound mind,- — considering all these cir- cumstances, can he do it?" After pausing a moment for reflection, so that each individual can form an independent judgment, call for a simple answer, — ay, or no. The com- pany will probably be about equally divided. The larger it is, the more nearly equal generally will be the division. If, now, the individuals are allowed to discuss the question, each person presenting the view which guided his own vote, and then the question is put again, the diversity of opinion will still remain, and in ordinary cases the persons questioned would never come to an agreement. And yet there is no difference of opinion about the facts. Every one knows per- fectly well what is the actual fact, as to the power of an in- dividual in respect to such a case. The whole apparent diversity is produced by different ideas as to the precise metaphysical signification of the little word can. Practiced minds would have no difficulty in such a case ; they would immediately define the word, and give two answers according to the two significations, and they would be unanimous. Now no class of disputes are more common than endless discussions which are precisely of such a character as this would be. The danger is understood by scholars who are at all conversant with the nature of such inquiries, and they make very special efforts, though these efforts are often inef- fectual, to guard against it. But the mass of mankind are very imperfectly aware of this source of difficulty, and they involve themselves in endless disputes, — the parties calling things by different names, and each combatant astonished at the stupidity and obstinacy of the other, in refusing to see what is so perfectly plain. 4. Another source of endless and fruitless discussions, la THE PARTING COMMAND. 317 Unimportant questions. Pride and self-conceit. disputing about questions which can be of no practical con- sequence, however they may be decided. Such as the origin of sin, the state of the soul between death and the resurrec- tion, the salvation of infants, the precise metaphysical rela- tionship of the Son to the Father. We have said they are of no practical consequence ; of course an ingenious reasoner can contrive to connect practical consequences with any sub- ject whatever, and in his zeal he will exaggerate the impor- tance of the connection. In fact, every subject in the moral world is more or less connected with every other one ; noth- ing stands out entirely detached and isolated, and conse- quently a question which its arguers will admit to be merely a theoretical one, will never be found. It would of course be absurd to condemn all discussions of such points as the above, and others similar to them. The calm philosophical consideration of such questions is perfectly proper. It is bringing them into the field of religious truth, and making them the means of religious divisions, — each party jealous and suspicious of those who think differently from himself, — and leaving the weightier matters of judg- ment, mercy, and faith, in order to wrangle about differences which can do at most but little harm :— -this is the spirit which it is our object to condemn. 5. The last source of religious error, and useless religious disputes which we shall mention, is the pride and self-conceit which keeps men from realizing that there is or can be any subject which is actually beyond the reach of their powers. Men will indeed admit this, in the abstract, but then they evince the insincerity of such an acknowledgment, by having a distinct and well-defined theory, on every subject which can be brought before them. But the truth is, and every mind which really reflects on its condition and its powers must perceive it, that the beams 318 THE CORNEE.-STONE. The limited powers of the human mind. Fruitlessness of controversies, of reason and revelation, which shine upon our path, afford a distinct illumination only for those objects which are im mediately around us, and with which we have a direct and practical connection. Beyond this circle, and it is a much narrower one than is perhaps generally supposed, there is a region of doubt and darkness, into which the human mind will endeavor in vain to extend its vision. In some cases, we attempt to define accurately, what from its very nature is not susceptible of accurate definition ; we assign exact boundaries in our conceptions, when the subject does not ad- mit of them in reality. We make sweeping assertions, dis- posing of whole classes of subjects at a word : or we take a general principle which is perhaps true in the main, and carry it out to extremes to which it can not fairly extend. We do this either from the influence of an almost universal tendency of the human mind to love sweeping generalities, or else because it is troublesome to pause, and reflect, and ascer- tain exceptions. In fact, a reflecting man will often detect himself believing a proposition merely because, when express ed, it sounds antithetic and striking, or because it is compre- hensive and distinct, and, right or wrong, presents a con- venient solution for whole classes of difficulties. The human mind will, in a word, run into almost any belief, by which it may be saved the labor of patient thought, and at the same time avoid the mortification of acknowledging its ig- norance. From these views of the origin and nature of religious error, and of the effect of argument and discussion as a means of removing it, it seems to be pretty clear that those endless disputes and controversies which are perpetually springing up in the common walks of life, by which the peace and harmony of families and villages are so often destroyed, are labor spent in vain. The Christian endeavors to reason his THE PARTING COMMAND. 319 The test of the truth. Sin a disease. Efficacy of remedies. brother Christian or his worldly neighbor out of his errors, and begins, perhaps, with honest motives, and certainly with sanguine hopes of success. But he finds that, however ex- clusively he may imagine the truth to be on one side, there may be talking on both, and he soon becomes irritated by formidable opposition, when he expected an immediate sur- render. He soon becomes excited, and forgetting the spirit- ual value of the truth, he contends for victory in the contest, and if he had any right feeling at the beginning, it is ail gone before the conversation is closed. The best way for private Christians to prove the truth, is to let it exercise its whole power upon their own hearts, and then to exhibit its fruits. Try to promote the happiness, and to improve the hearts and lives of those around you, and you will evince the efficacy, and the value, and the truth of the opinions which you hold, better than in any other way. If a pestilential disease were raging in a city, and if the commu- nity were divided in regard to the method of cure, how pre- posterous would it be for those who are well to leave the sick and suffering, and suspend all active efforts, and waste their time in disputes about the nature of the vital powers, — the character of the disease, — and the operation of the various remedies. It would be absurd ; but let each one go and try his own plan, and the success of the right one will secure its universal adoption ; and that too, with a rapidity which will be just in proportion to the degree m which all disputing on the subject is avoided. In the same manner success in turn- ing men to holiness is the great criterion of religious truth. It must be so ; the world is full of hearts alienated from God, and enslaved to sin ; and nothing but true religion can break these chains, and bring back the wanderer to pardon and happiness. Let the advocates then, of every system of reli- gious truth, go abroad among mankind, and try their remedies. 320 THE CORNER-STONE. Moral power of the truth. The means of propagating it, That which is really from Heaven must succeed, and success must decide its triumph In fact the little progress which religion is making in the world is made in this way. Disputes on all subjects which are involved in real difficulty, generally result in a division of the auditors into parties, proportioned pretty nearly, to the abilities of the combatants ; and in religion there is a bias, which is altogether on the wrong side ; discussion, therefore, here will be peculiarly uncertain in its results. It is the visible moral effect of the truth, which really sustains its influence in this world. It is moral. power, so evident and so irresistible, which enables pure Christianity to stand her ground; and every thing which diminishes this, or limits the sphere of its influence, or draws off the attention of men from it, — every thing of this kind, retards most directly and most powerfully the progress of the Savior's cause. Let every class of Christians then, who think they love the truth, not waste their time in disputing with their neighbors, but cherish the pure spirit of piety in their hearts, and cultivate in themselves and in all around them, its genuine and happy fruits. The Christians' rule of influence is not to endeavor to establish the truth in the human intellect by the power of subtile disputation; but "by manifestation of the truth, to commend themselves to every man's conscience, in the sight of God." In other words, we must bring piety forward; its nature and tendencies must be made to appear in this world, and to stand out in bold and striking relief among the prevail- ing miseries and sins. But this must be done, too, with the constant conviction that the conscience is the great avenue by which the truth is to find access to the human heart, if it '& admitted at all. THE PARTING PROMISE, 321 The command and the promise. The Savior's presence CHAPTER X. THE PARTING PROMISE, OE, THE INFLUENCES OF THE HOLY SPIRIT. " Lo I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world." At the time of our Savior's crucifixion, any one who should have looked abroad at the condition and character of man- kind, would have pronounced the attempt which the twelve disciples were about to make, the most wild and impracticable scheme which the human heart could devise. Jesus knew, when he commanded his followers to engage in such an enterprise, that they would need help. He coupled therefore a promise to his command, — the one as remarkable as the other. The Savior's presence with his followers assists them in their work, undoubtedly, in several ways. It cheers and sustains them. It gives them guidance and direction in difficulty and doubt ; and the feeling that they are always with their leader, enjoying his presence and sympathy, gives devoted and honest Christians a support in difficulty, and trial, and affliction, which nothing else could afford. But Jesus had often said before, that men, when turned from sin, were turned by an influence from above, which influence he was to send down from the Father. We can not therefore doubt, that in this his parting promise he referred in part at least to the co-operation which he should himself render them, in all their efforts to save souls. 322 THE GOB.WER-STONE Proofs of it Saul. Difficulties of the subject. The disciples understood this, and the first triumphs of Christianity were, in a simple but beautiful manner, ascribed to him : " And the Lord added to the church daily, such as should be saved." Their Master, too, gave the disciples an early and most signal proof that he remembered his promise, and was able to fulfill it, by changing Saul, their bitterest and most power- ful foe, to their most devoted and most efficient friend. The apostle always attributed his conversion to the direct inter- position of his Savior ; and with such proofs as the early Christians thus had, that a divine and unwonted influence was exerted upon human hearts, in connection with their efforts, they could not but take courage, and press on in a cause, which, without such aid, must have been very soon abandoned. We have the same evidence now, as I intend to show in this chapter, by a narrative of facts, — such as are in sub- stance very common in modern times, and which prove that the enterprise of bringing the world back to God is not a hopeless one. The narrative will show too that the same kind of aid, so indispensable to success in such a cause as this, is still rendered. Before coming to it, however, a few considerations respecting the general subject must first be offered. There are certainly great difficulties connected with the truth that whenever men turn away from their sins and enter G-od's service it is through spiritual life which he awakens in the soul. Into these difficulties, we do not now propose to enter. "We feel and know that men are free and accounta- ble ; the Bible most explicitly states, too, that all holy desires in the human heart come from God. If, however, the ques- tion is raised how holy feeling can be the spontaneous move- ment of the moral agent which exercises it, and yet be the gift of God, we may lose ourselves in boundless perplexities, THE PARTING PROMISE. 323 Subject obscure. Plausible reasoning not to be relied upon. and return from the fruitless pursuit more dissatisfied than ever. The difficulty is, however, in the subject, rather than in the truth; that is, it appertains to a whole field of thought, and not to one particular proposition. It is difficult for us to understand how a being can be created at all, with- out having his character determined hy the act of creation. If the question, what his first moral acts shall be, is deter- mined by any thing, it would seem that it must be by something in his moral constitution, as it was framed by his Maker ; and if it is not determined by any thing, it must, one would think, be left a matter of pure accident ; and that which is a matter of pure accident, can not be of a moral nature. We might thus make out a very respectable argu- ment a priori, that a free moral agent can not be created ; as creating power, unless it leaves the moral character a matter of mere accident, must do something to determine it, in which case it would seem that it is itself responsible for the acts which follow. It will of course be understood that we do not offer this argument as a sound one, — but only as plausible reasoning which is not to be relied upon, on account of the obscurity and difficulty of the whole subject. Take for instance the question suggested by the last lines of the preceding para- graph ; — can creative power really determine the character of the being which it forms, without being itself morally re- sponsible for that character. It is a question which might be disputed by philosophers for ages, without victory on either side. The difficulty is in the subject. Wherever we ap- proach it all is obscurity and doubt. On such a subject we can not trust our reasonings, nor believe our conclusions. There is no objection, perhaps, to an occasional discussion of such points, by Christians, if conducted with the same feel- ings with which we should investigate any other difficult question in metaphysics or philosophy : but we must not 324 THE CORNER-STONE. Ambiguity of language. Facts are plain ; the theory obscure. bring such discussions into the region of religious feeling and duty, and press upon our fellow- Christians the theories which we may ourselves be led to form. What human minds see so imperfectly, they never see alike. On such subjects they can not agree. What is substance to one, is shadow to an- other : and a thought which, from one point of view, has one set of aspects and relations, from a different one has another, totally diverse. Besides, in the higher regions of metaphysi- cal investigation, words, as a medium of communication, if not as a medium of thought, lose their significancy, and thus even the conceptions which we have, though perhaps clear in the mind, can not be clearly expressed. In fact, the human intellect, when it roams away into the profound recesses of metaphysical philosophy, can lead on other minds but a very little way. Intercourse by language very soon fails. We endeavor, by nice definition, and careful etymo- logical discrimination, to lead it on as far as it will go ; and it is often long before its growing inadequacy is understood and felt. It must, however, at last be abandoned, and the mind then, if it advances at all, must advance alone and silently. It perceives truths, or at least, it forms conceptions which it can not communicate, and when at last, bewildered in the increasing perplexity of the labyrinth, it gives over, and returns, it can never convey to another mind any precise idea of the point to which it had gone. Now nearly all the disputes on this subject which have agitated the church, lie in that doubtful region, where the mind can see but dimly, and must report even more dimly than it sees. Language has lost its power, though he who uses it does not perceive its weakness ; and hence the discus- sions are made up almost entirely of explanations and cor- rections, and definitions of terms, and charges of misunder- standing or misrepresentation. We had better leave the whole ground. Believe what the Bible says, and look at the THE PARTING PROMISE. 325 Moral dependence on God. Waiting for the Spirit. confirmations of it afforded so abundantly by experience, and leave discussions of theories for a future day. We corne then to the facts in the case, which are, that men will not turn away from sin, and begin, with broken- hearted penitence, to serve God, without his aid. There is no way of inducing them to do it. You can bring clearly before them the obligations which they are under to God, but if they still prefer the world and sin, what more can you do ? You can exhibit the moral beauty of gratitude, but if you exhibit it to a heart naturally ungrateful, if such an one should be found, what good would it do ? You can not prove that if a man has received kindness from another he ought to show kindness in return. If the person whom you address does not perceive this truth at once, there is nothing to be said about it ; argument would be utterly unavailing. In the same manner, if he sees it, but does not feel it, you can not alter his heart by reasoning. There is a mistaken view of man's moral dependence, which in some cases produces one very bad effect. Persons sometimes think that the power to renew them is so com- pletely in their Maker's hands that they must wait for him to exercise it. They seem to have the impression that God will repent for them, and they are looking to him to do it. Now this is very evidently absurd. The Holy Spirit will never repent for you ; no, never. From the very nature of things that never can be. You must repent yourself, though if you do it, it will be in the exercise of spiritual power sup- plied from on high. Nor is the sinner to wait, as many seem inclined to do, until he perceives that the spiritual power by which he is to exercise penitence is furnished to him. The first holy action of the renewed soul is simultaneous with moral renewal. The absurdity of such passive waiting to be acted upon, may be well illustrated by some of the miracles of the Savior. 326 THE CORNER-STONE. TI19 mar with a withered hand. THE WITHERED HAND. A man, for example, comes to Jesus Christ with a withered hand. It hangs lifeless by his side. It is insensible and motionless, a sym- bol of the moral condi- tion of the human soul when dead in sin. He asks help from the Sa- vior ; and what is the reply? " Stretch forth thine hand." " How can I stretch : t forth ? Its utter life- lessness," might the poor patient say to the Savior, "is the very reason why I bring it to thee. I can not stretch it forth unless its life and power are previously restored." " Stretch forth thine hand," is however the command, and though we might gather innumerable theoretical diffi- culties about such a command, there are none in practice. The patient obeys. The very instant of exertion on his part, is the very instant of returning life and power. His hand obeys his volition. It obeys it however by a power which a supernatural interposition supplied. He could not have raised his arm without external aid, and on the other hand, he could not have external aid, without making the effort. Now every person, who, after understanding God's com- mands, defers obedience until the power of the Holy Spirit is exerted upon him to lead him to it, seems to be almost precisely in the condition of the man with the withered hand, if, after the Savior had directed him to stretch it forth, he THE PARTING PROMISE. 327 Faults and errors. We must be born again. had stood waiting, before he made the effort, to have life restored to it. He must feel, he thinks, the blood beginning to circulate, and sensation returning, before he has any thing to do ! His arm would, in such a case, remain withered for- ever. So the soul which has sunk into the lethargy of wait ing for God's Spirit, may wait forever in vain. Man musf repent himself. He must love God himself ; he must aban don sin, himself. God will not do the work for us ; he will only infuse the spiritual vitality by which it is to be done. It is melancholy to observe that when the word of God, or the obvious principles of duty, mark out a straight course, man ivill find devious and wandering paths, turning off to the right and to the left, — any way, just to avoid the narrow path of duty. One class of persons, interested, or professing to be interested, in the question of their salvation, fold their arms in quiet inaction, waiting, as they say, for influences from above to lead them to their duty. Others, aroused perhaps from this condition, go zealously to work to purchase their salvation,— »to fabricate repentance and faith by theii own power alone. Self-confident, self-sufficient, and filled with spiritual pride, they think to turn their own hearts to God, without receiving any new life from him. Brought back from their wanderings upon one side of the truth, away they go immediately upon the other, in an error as danger ous, nay, as fatal as before. For, after all, it makes little difference whether a man gives up the kingdom of heaven altogether, or attempts to enter it without being born again. In either case, he continues dead in trespasses and sins. The difference is, that, in the one, he lies in acknowledged life- lessness, — in the other, his cadaverous form is clothed in the garments, and placed in the attitude of life ; but stiffened limbs, and a countenance of death-like expression betray its case. We must be born again. The modes and forms which moral renewal by the Holy 128 THE CORNER-STONE. Influences of the Spirit, Various effects. Spirit assumes in the soul are innumerable ; and the truths which seem to be employed as the means of affecting the heart are almost equally varied. All that we know is, that while the mass of mankind go on obstinately in sin, individ- uals of every possible character, and in every variety of cir- cumstances, do repent and return to duty. Sometimes it is the little child, knowing scarcely any thing but that it has a Maker ; again, it is some hardened and violent opposer of God and religion, who throws down his weapons and comes hum- bled and broken-hearted to the foot of the cross. Sometimes one well instructed in religious truth, and faithfully warned of guilt and of danger, will, after years of indifference and thoughtlessness, suddenly relent and come to the Savior, and at others whole communities will be aroused ; and though they could before be affected by no exhortations, and no re- monstrances, they will now suddenly awake, and flock in crowds to the service of God. The Holy Spirit can operate anywhere and with any means. Sometimes he whispers gently to a single one in solitude, — sometimes he spreads solemnity over the crowded meeting. To-day he gives mean- ing and power to the Scriptures, as the reader, at his lonely fireside, seeks their guidance, — to-morrow he indites a prayer, or gives to reflections which have been utterly unable to affect the heart, power to overwhelm it with emotion, or brings up sins which have been looked upon with cold un- concern, in their true character, and draws them out before the soul in gloomy array. He awakens conscience, and quick- ens the memory ; he disrobes the world of her alluring garb, and gives a spiritual meaning to the events of Providence. Life, seen by the light which he brings into the soul, wears its own serious and sober hue : eternity rises, — its distant realities draw near, — doubts and uncertainties vanish, and the soul to which this heavenly messenger is sent, walks forth redeemed from sin, purified from pollution, set free from its THE PARTING PROMISE. 329 The narrative. A New England college. The buildings. chains, and with its powers expanded and its aims and views enlarged, prepared henceforth to be a holy and happy child of God, instead of the degraded and polluted child of sin. Now it is aid like this that Christians are to look for, when they endeavor to promote the cause of religion in the world, and it seems to be rendered just in proportion to the humility and sincerity and devotedness of the efforts which are made. Bad feelings and sinister aims are so often mingled with Christian zeal, and so often assume its form, that in ordinary cases we have a sad mixture of the fruits of genuine piety with those of hypocrisy and sin. There is, however, such a thing as moral renewal by means of unwonted influences upon human hearts, which the ordinary operations of the mind can not explain. The following narrative is not an ac- count of a very uncommon case. It is a specimen of hun- dreds which have occurred within a few years in our land, and which have been fully equal to this in its results. An -ctual case like this, narrated particularly, may give the reader a more vivid conception of what co-operation from above Christians may expect, than general remarks upon the promises which the Scriptures contain. Such cases certainly afford a striking commentary upon the Savior's words, " Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world." THE COLLEGE REVIVAL. As probably but few of my readers have had opportunity to form any acquaintance with the interior of a New England college, or with the nature of college life, I must commence my narrative with a description of the place in which the scene is laid. The appearance which a New England college exhibits to a traveler, is that of a group of large brick buildings, gene- rally a hundred feet long, and four stories high, standing usually upon an eminence, or upon a level plain, on the bor- 330 THE CORNER-STONE. The classes. ders of some quiet country village. The buildings are con- nected with one another, and approached from various direc- tions, by graveled walks, and perhaps ornamented with shrubbery ; and one among them, distinguished usually by a form somewhat different from the rest, and surmounted by a sort of cupola, indicates that the whole constitutes some pub- lic establishment. THE COLLEGE. A fresh admission of students takes place in the autumn of each year, consisting ordinarily of young men, from twenty years of age down to thirteen. These students are united into one class, and commence one course of study, which ex- tends through a period of four years. During these four years there will, of course, be three more admissions, making four classes- and wily four, in the institution at • the same time THE PARTING PROMISE. 331 The first day. Temptations. Varieties of character. The large buildings which. I have alluded to are divided into rooms, as nearly alike as possible ; — eight usually upon a floor, and consequently thirty-two in all. Each one of these rooms is assigned to two of the members of the class admitted, and it is to be for one year their home. The first day of the collegiate year, those portions of the building as- signed to the Freshmen, as the last admitted are called, ex- hibit a scene of very peculiar and striking character. The bustle of preparation, — moving in, and putting up furniture, — the interest excited by the novelty of the mode of life that these novitiates are now to lead, and the lingering recollec- tions of home, left perhaps forever, — resolutions of diligence and fidelity in the course of study before them, — and the va- rious other feelings excited by the new and strange faces and objects around, all conspire to give to the Freshman's first day at college a marked and striking character, and to fill it with new and strong emotions which he never can forget. In every class there is a. large number of youthful mem- bers, whose parents' situation in life is such that they have been the objects of constant attention from infancy, and have accordingly been early fitted for college, and sent to the in- stitution before their minds are sufficiently matured, and their moral principles firmly enough established, to resist the new and strong temptations to which they are henceforth to be exposed. Others are older and more mature. Many of these have prepared themselves for college by their own exertions, and have entered under the influence of strong desires to avail themselves of its privileges. In these two classes may be found almost every variety of human character. Every virtue and every vice here exhibit themselves. There is in- fidelity, — cold, calculating, malicious infidelity,- -establishing her wretched reign in the bosoms of young men just opening into manhood. There is vice, secret and open, of every spe- cies, and in every degree. There is intemperance and pro 332 THE CORNER-STONE Dangers. The progress of sin. 11111 rt; faneness, and hatred of religion, and an open and reckless op- position to the cause of G-od and holiness, scarcely ever sur- passed by the animosity of any veteran foe. The lines between the enemies and the friends of Grod are thus drawn in college more distinctly than in almost any other community ; — and the young and inexperienced in every new class, are marked out by the idle, dissipated, and aban- doned, for their prey. The victim first listens to language and sentiments which undermine his regard for the principles of duty, and weaken those cords which Christian parents had bound around his heart, when he left his early home ; and he soon falls more and more under the influ- ence of these ungodly companions. Half al- lured by their persua- sions, and half com- pelled by their rude in- trusions into his room, he spends the hours which college laws al- lot to study, in idle reading, or in games of chance or skill. He first listens to ridicule of religious persons, and then joins in it, and next begins to ridicule The officers of the college do all in their power to arrest his progress. They see the first indi- cations of his beginning to go astray, in the neglect of his studies, and in the irregularity of his attendance upon college duties ; and again and again appoint one of their number to warn him, and expostulate with him, and kindly to put him THE INTRUSION. and despise religion itself. THE PARTING PROMISE. 333 Efforts to reclaim a wanderer. Daily college life. on his guard. How many such efforts have I made ! As I write these paragraphs, I can recall these interviews to mind with almost the distinctness of actual vision. A short time after sending the messenger for the one who was to receive the friendly admonition, I would hear his timid rap at the door. He would enter with a look of mingled guilt, fear, and shame, or sometimes with a step and countenance of assumed assurance. How many times in such circumstances, have I tried in vain to gain access to the heart ! I have endeavored to draw him into conversation about his father and mother and the scenes of home and childhood, that I might insensi- bly awaken recollections of the past, and bring back long lost feelings, and reunite broken ties. I have tried to lead him to anticipate the future, and see the dangers of idleness, dis- sipation, and vice. I have endeavored to draw forth and en courage the feeble resolution, and by sympathy, and kind- ness, and promises of aid, to bring back the wanderer to duty and to happiness. He would listen in cold and respectful silence, and go away unchanged ; perhaps, to make a few feeble resolutions, soon to be forgotten ; but more probably to turn into ridicule the moral lecture, as he would call it, which he had received ; and to go on with a little more caution and secrecy perhaps, but with increased hardihood and rapidity, in the course of sin. In many cases, college censures and punishments frequent- ly follow, until expulsion closes the stoiy. In other cases, the individuals conceal their guilt, while they become more and more deeply involved in it, and more and more hardened. They associate with one another, and at length, in some cases, form a little community where ungodliness, infidelity, and open sin, have confirmed and unquestioned sway. I must say a word or two now in regard to the ordinary routine of daily life at college, in order that the description which is to follow, may be better understood. Very early 334 THE CORNER-STONE. Morning. The prayer bell. Morning prayers. Recitations. in the morning, the observer may see lights at a few of the windows of the buildings inhabited by the students. They mark the rooms occupied by the more industrious or more resolute, who rise and devote an hour or two to their books by lamp-light on the winter mornings. About the break of day, the bell awakens the multitude of sleepers in all the rooms, and in a short time they are to be seen issuing from the various doors, with sleepy looks, and with books under their arms, and some adjusting their hurried dress. The first who come down, go slowly, others with quicker and quicker step, as the tolling of the bell proceeds : — and the last few stragglers run with all speed, to secure their places before the bell ceases to toll. When the last stroke is sounded, it usu- ally finds one or two too late, who stop short suddenly, and return slowly to their rooms. The President or one of the professors reads a portion of Scripture by the mingled light of the pulpit lamps and the beams which come in from the reddening eastern sky. He then offers the morning prayer. The hundreds of young men before him exhibit the appearance of respectful attention, except that four or five, appointed for the purpose, in differ- ent parts of the chapel, are looking carefully around to ob- serve and note upon their bills, the absentees. A few also, not fearing God or regarding their duty, conceal under their cloaks, or behind a pillar, or a partition between the pews, the book which contains their morning lesson : — and attempt to make up, as well as the faint but increasing light will en- able them, for the time wasted in idleness or dissipation on the evening before. When prayers are over, the several classes repair immediately to the rooms assigned respectively to them, and recite the first lesson of the day. During the short period which elapses between the recita- tion and the breakfast-bell, college is a busy scene. Fires are kindling in every room. Groups are standing in every THE PARTING PROMISE. 335 The breakfast hour. Study hours. The idle and negligent. The afternoon. corner, or hovering around the newly-made fires ; — parties are running up and down the stairs two steps at a time, with all the ardor and activity of youth : — and now and then, a fresh crowd is seen issuing from the door of some one of the build- ings, where a class has finished its recitation, and comes forth to disperse to their rooms ; — followed by their instructor, who walks away to his house in the village. The break- fast-bell brings out the whole throng again, and gathers them around the long tables in the Common's Hall, or else scatters them among the private families in the neighborhood. An hour after breakfast the bell rings, to mark the com- mencement of study-hours ; — and then the students are re- quired by college laws to repair to their respective rooms, which answer the three-fold purpose of parlor, bed- room, and study, to prepare for their recitation at eleven o'clock. They, however, who choose to evade this law, can do it without much danger of detection. The great majority comply, but some go into their neighbors' rooms to receive assistance in their studies, some lay aside the dull text-book, and read a tale, or play a game ; and others, farther gone in the road of idleness and dissipation, steal secretly away from college, and ramble in the woods, or skate upon the ice, or find some rendezvous of dissipation in the village, evading their tasks like truant boys. They, of course, are marked as absent ; but pretended sickness will answer for an excuse, they think, once or twice, and they go on, blind to the certainty of the disgrace and ruin which must soon come. The afternoon is spent like the forenoon, and the last reci- tation of the winter's day takes place just before the sun goes down. An hour is allotted to it, and then follow evening prayers, at the close of which the students issue from the chapel, and walk in long procession to supper. It is in the evening, however, that the most striking pecu liarities of college life exhibit themselves. Sometimes liter 336 THE CORNER-STONE. Evening. College mischief. Frequent consequences. ary societies assemble, organized and managed by the students, where they hold debates, or entertain each other with dec- lamations, essays, and dialogues. Sometimes a religious meeting is held, attended by a portion of the professors of re ligion, and conducted by an officer ; at other times, the stu- dents remain in their rooms, some quietly seated by their fire, one on each side, reading, writing, or preparing the lessons for the following morning — others assemble for mirth and dissipation, or prowl around the entries and halls, to perpetrate petty mischief, breaking the windows of some hapless Fresh- man, — or burning nauceous drugs at the keyhole of his door, — or rolling logs down stairs, and running instantly into a neighboring room so as to escape detection ; — or watching at an upper window to pour water unobserved upon some fel- low-student passing in or out below ; — or plugging up the keyhole of the chapel door, to prevent access to it for morn- ing prayers ; — or gaming access to the bell by false keys, and cutting the rope, or filling it with water to freeze during the night : — or some other of the thousand modes of doing mis- chief, to which the idle and flexible Sophomore is instigated by some calculating and malicious mischief-maker in a higher class. After becoming tired of this, they gather together in the room of some dissolute companion, and there prepare themselves a supper, with food which they have plundered from a neighboring poultry-yard, and utensils obtained in some similar mode. Ardent spirit sometimes makes them noisy ; — and a college officer, at half-past nine, breaks in upon them, and exposure and punishment are the consequences ; — disgrace, suspension, and expulsion for themselves, and bleeding hearts for parents and sisters at home. At other times, with controlled and restrained indulgence, they sit till midnight, sowing the bitter seeds of vice ; undermining health, destroy- ing all moral sensibility, and making almost sure the ruin of their souls. THE FARTING PROMISE. 337 Efforts of the officers. Their fruitlessness. Amherst College in April, 1827. In the mean time the officers of the institution, with a fidelity and an anxious interest, which is seldom equaled by any solicitude except that which is felt by parents for their children, struggle to resist the tide. They watch, they ob- serve, they have constant records kept, and in fact, they go as far as it is possible to go, in obtaining information about the character and history of each individual, without adopt- ing a system of espionage, which the nature of the institution, and the age of a majority of the pupils, render neither prac- ticable nor proper. They warn every individual who seems to be in danger, with greater and greater distinctness, accord- ing to the progress that he seems to be making, and as soon as evidence will justify it, they remove every one whose stay seems dangerous to the rest ; but still the evil will increase, in spite of all the ordinary human means which can be brought against it. Such is college, and such substantially was the condition of Amherst College, in April, 1827, at the time of my narra- tive. Faithful religions instruction was given on the Sab- bath, at the chapel, where the students were required to attend, and we were accustomed to hold, also, a meeting for familiar religious instruction one evening during the week. At this meeting, however, scarcely any were present ; — a small portion of the actual members of the church were accustomed to attend, but never any one else. If a single individual, not professedly a Christian, had come in, for a single evening, it would have been noticed as a rare occur- rence, and talked of by the officers as something unexpected and extraordinary. Our hearts ached, and our spirits sunk within us, to witness the coldness and hardness of heart to- ward God and duty, which reigned among so large a num- ber of our pupils. Every private effort which we could make with individuals, entirely failed, and we could see, too, that those who professed to love the Savior, were rapidly P 338 THE CORNER-STONE. A student. Letter to the author. Writer's account of the condition of college. losing their interest in his cause, and becoming engrossed in literary ambition and college rivalry, dishonoring God's cause, and gradually removing every obstacle to the universal prev- alence of vice and sin. There was then in college, a young man, who had been among the foremost in his opposition to religion. His talents and his address gave him a great deal of personal influence, which was of such a character as to be a constant source of solicitude to the government. He was repeatedly involved in difficulties with the officers on account of his transgressions of the College laws, and so well known were his feelings on the subject, that when at a government meeting, during the progress of the revival, we were told with astonishment, by the President, that this young man was suffering great dis- tress on account of his sins, it was supposed by one of the officers, that it must be all a pretense, feigned to deceive the President, and make sport for his companions. The Presi- dent did not reply to the suggestion, but went to visit him ; and when I next saw him, he said, " There's no pretense there. If the Spirit of God is not at work upon his heart, I know nothing about the agency of the Spirit." That young man is now the pastor of a church, active and useful, and when commencing this narrative, I wrote to him to send me such reminiscences of this scene as might remain upon his mind. He writes me thus. " Very dear Sir, " My obligations to you as a friend and instructor make me anxious to fulfill my promise of drawing up a sketch of the revival at Amherst College, during the last two or three weeks of April, 1827. I have been delayed partly by sick- ness, and by the unusual pressure of my duties here, partly by the difficulty of settling in my mind a clear idea of what you wish, and partly by the impossibility of reviving the THE PARTING PROMISE. 339 Animosities and irregularities. The President's efforts. memory of facts and impressions in the exact order of their occurrence. If this communication should reach you too late to answer your purpose, it will at least prove my wish to yield you such assistance as I may. " For a considerable time previous, the subject of religion in college had fallen into great neglect ; — even the outward forms were very faintly observed. During nearly two years in which I had been connected with the college, I had never heard the subject mentioned among the students, except as matter of reproach and ridicule. At least this is true, so far as my intercourse with the students was concerned. Those who professed piety, either through timidity or unconcern, seemed to let the subject rest, and were chiefly devoted to indolence or literary ambition. But while religion was shamed and fugitive, irreligion was bold and free. A ma- jority of the students were avowedly destitute of piety ; and of these a large portion were open or secret infidels ; and many went to every length they could reach, of levity, pro- faneness, and dissipation. So many animosities and irregu- larities prevailed, as to endanger the general reputation of the seminary. " Some of the students who were differently situated from myself, may perhaps have noticed preparatory movements on the common mass of mind, indicating an undercurrent of feeling, gradually gaining strength, and preparing the com- munity for the results which were to follow. But I saw none ; — and none such could have been generally apparent. Upon myself, the change opened with as much suddenness as power." I here interrupt, for a moment, the narrative of my friend, to mention all the indications which I, myself, or my brother officers perceived. The President, with faithfulness, and plainness, urged upon the professors of religion, their duties 340 THE CORNER-STONE. Their success. Attention arrested. Interest at the chapel. and their neglect, and held up to them the evidences that they were, as a body, wandering from duty, and becoming unfaithful to their trust. But he had done this, often, before. In fact, he was in the habit of doing it. The difference seemed to be, that though heretofore they would listen with stupid coldness, and go away unchanged, — now they sud- denly seemed inspired with a disposition to hear, and with a heart to feel. They began to come in greater numbers to the meetings appointed for them, and to listen with silent solemnity to warnings and expostulations which had been always unheeded before. All the efforts which were made were aimed at leading Christ's followers to penitence, and at bringing them back to duty. And though it had been im- possible before, it was perfectly easy now ; and while this very work was going on, — actually before the time had come for thinking of the others, — the professing Christians began spontaneously, or at least to all appearance without human exertion, to tremble for themselves. The officers and the religious students were astonished day after day to find num- bers whom no faithfulness of expostulation had hitherto been able to affect at all, now coming, of their own accord, and asking for help and direction ; trembling with anxiety and remorse on account of their past sins, and with fear of G-od's displeasure. But to return to my correspondent. " The first circumstance which attracted my attention was a sermon from the President, on the Sabbath. I do not know what the text and subject were, for according to a wicked habit, I had been asleep till near its close. I seemed to be awakened by a silence which pervaded the room : a deep solemn attention such as seems to spread over an assem- bly when all are completely engrossed in some absorbing theme. I looked around astonished, and the feeling of pro- found attention seemed to settle on myself. I looked toward THE PARTING PROMISE. 341 Impression. Singular plan adopted by the students. the President, and saw him calm and collected, hut evi- dently most deeply interested in what he was saying, — his whole soul engaged, and his countenance "beaming with an expression of eager earnestness, which lighted up all his features, and gave to his language unusual energy and power. "What could this mean? I had never seen a speaker and his audience so engaged. He was making a most earnest appeal to prevent those who were destitute of reli- gion themselves, from doing any thing to ohstruct the pro- gress of the revival which he hoped was approaching — or of doing any thing to prevent the salvation of others, even if they did not desire salvation for themselves. He hesought them, by all the interests of immortality, and for the sake of themselves, and of their companions, to desist from hostilities against the work of God. " The discourse closed, and we dispersed. But many of us carried away the arrow in our hearts. The gayest and the hardiest trembled at the manifest approach of a sublime and unwonted influence. Among some who might have been expected to raise the front of opposition, I resolved not to do it, but to let it take its course : — keeping away from its influence, without doing any thing to oppose it ; but neu- trality was impossible." I must interrupt the narrative of the letter again, to ex- plain a circumstance which I perceive is alluded to in the next paragraph. About a year before this time, there had been similar indications of a returning sense of duty to God among the students. The officers were much encouraged, but our hopes were all dispelled by the success of a manoeuver which is so characteristic of college life and manners that I will describe it. The pla^ adopted by the enemies of reli gion was to come up boldly, and face the awakening interest. 342 THE CORNER-STONE, The evening meeting. The intruders. An enemy turned to a friend. and, as it were, brave it down. The first indication of this design which I perceived was this. I had been invited by the serious portion of the students to address them one Satur- day evening in a recitation-room. I took my seat in the great armed-chair which had been placed for me in a corner, with a Bible and hymn-book on the oval leaf or tablet attached to it, — an article of furniture whose form and fashion any col- legian will recollect, — when the door opened, and in walked, one after another, six or eight of the most bold, hardened, notorious enemies of religion which the institution contained. They walked in, took their seats, in a row directly before me, and looked me in the face, — saying by their countenances most distinctly, " Sir, we defy you, and all your religion :" — and yet, it was with that peculiar address, with which a wild college student can execute his plans, so that there was not the slightest breach of any rule of external propriety, or any tangible evidence of intentional disrespect. Not one of them had, perhaps, ever been voluntarily in a religious meeting at college before, and every one in the room knew it. I can see the leader now, as distinctly as if he were before me : — his tall' form, manly countenance, and energetic look. He maintained his ground as the enemy of God and religion, for a year after this time : — but then, his eyes were opened : he prayed with agony of spirit, hour after hour, in his open room, for forgiveness ; and now he is in a foreign land preaching to pagans the Savior, whom I vainly endeavored on this occasion to bring to him. I do not know whether this description will ever reach him ; if it does, he will remember the meeting in the Freshman recitation-room, — and be as bold for God now, as he was then against him. He has been so already. After a few similar efforts to this, the irreligious party, for it is almost a trained and organized party, determined to carry their system farther still. They accordingly formed THE PARTING PROMISE. 343 A Btrange assembly. Success of a bad design. a plan for a religious meeting from which every friend of religion should be excluded. They circulated the informa- tion among themselves, taking special pains to secure the attendance of every one, and then, one evening, after prayers, as the officers were coming out of the chapel, one of them was astonished at being accosted by two well-known enemies of every thing like piety, who appeared, as they said, from some of their friends, as a committee to invite him to attend a reli- gious meeting that evening. The officer promised to come ; and when, after tea, he repaired to the room, he found it crowded with persons, whose faces he had never seen at a voluntary meeting before. There they sat, the idle, the dis- sipated, the profane, and the hater and despiser of God ; there were also numerous others, moral and well-disposed, but regardless of religious duty ; but not a single one whom he had been accustomed to see in such a room, for such a purpose, was, on this occasion, allowed to be there. The officer addressed them faithfully and plainly, urging their duty and their sins upon their consideration, while they sat still, in respectful but heartless silence ; looking intently upon him, with an expression of countenance which seemed to say, " Here we all are, move us if you can." And they con- quered. They went home unmoved ; and all the indications of increasing seriousness soon disappeared. They continued to assemble for several weeks, inviting the officers in succes- sion to be present, and at last, the few who remained, con- ducted the meetings themselves, with burlesqued sermons, and mock prayers, and closed the series at last, as I have been informed, by bringing in an ignorant black man, whose presence and assistance completed the victory they had gain- ed over influences from above. All this took place the year before, and it is to these circumstances that the next para- graph in the letter alludes. 344 THE CORNEE.-STONE. The Hebrew Bible. The President's visit to the awakened student. " It was probably with an intention somewhat similar to that which prompted the meetings which the irreligious stu- dents held by themselves the year before, that the following plan was formed. A student who was temporarily my room- mate importuned me to invite one of the tutors to conduct a religious meeting at my room. I told him that I would, if he would obtain the promise of certain individuals, ten in number, whom I named, that they would attend. I selected such individuals as I was confident would not consent to be present. In a short time he surprised me with the informa- tion that he had seen them all, and that they had consented to the proposal. Of course, I was obliged, though reluctant- ly, to request the tutor to hold such a meeting. Most of us repaired to the place, at the appointed time, with feelings of levity, or of bitter hostility to religion. My room-mate had waggishly placed a Hebrew Bible on the stand. Whether this circumstance, or the character of his auditory, suggested the subject which the tutor chose, I know not : — but after opening the meeting with prayer, he entered into a defense of the divine authority of the Holy Scriptures, from external and internal evidence, which he maintained in the most con- vincing manner ; and then, on the strength of this authority, he urged its promises and denunciations upon us as sinners The effect was very powerful. Several retired deeply im pressed, and all were made more serious, and better prepared to be influenced by the truth. So that this affair ' fell out, rather to the furtherance of the Gospel.' " My own interest in the subject rapidly increased, and one day, while secluded in my apartment, and overwhelmed with conflicting emotions of pride and despair, I was surprised by a visit from the President. He informed me that he had come with the hope of dissuading me from doing any thi?ig to hinder the progress of the revival. After intimating that he need feel no apprehensions on that point, I confessed to THE PARTING PROMISE. 345 The mother. Her son's letters. The Christian mother's encouragement. him with difficulty the agitation of my thoughts. Appa- rently much affected, he only said, ' Ah, I was afraid you would never have such feelings.' After remaining silent a few minutes, he engaged in prayer, and retired, advising me to attend a certain meeting of my class-mates for prayer. I felt very much like the Syrian general when offended hy the supposed neglect of the prophet; for I thought he would have seized the opportunity to do some great thing for the relief of my laboring mind. " With feelings still more excited I repaired to one of my class-mates, who had the reputation of being one of the most consistent Christians among us. I asked him, with tears, to tell me what I should do to be saved. He too betrayed his wonder, and only resorted to prayer with me, in which he could do little but say, ' Jesus, thou son of David, have mercy on us.' Long afterward, I learned that when he left me, to join a circle assembled that evening for prayer, he told them that my inquiry for the way of salvation, made him feel as if he needed to learn it himself." The writer of the narrative which I have been transcrib- ing, had then a mother : she has since gone to her home, She was a widow, and he her only child. She was a Chris- tian too, and her heart was oppressed, and her life saddened, by the character and conduct of her son. He wrote to her at this time, and among her papers after her death he found his letters, and has sent them to me. I wish that I could put them just as they are into this description ; — tattered and torn with frequent perusal. Those widowed and lonely mothers among my readers, whose lives are embittered by the impiety and wild irregularity of an unconverted son, will understand the feelings which led her literally to wear these letters out with repeated readings. As they read them, let them look to God, and take courage, and remember that it 346 THE CORNER-STONE. Suspense relieved. The young convert's narrative. is never too late to pray, and never too late for God to an- swer prayer. In the first letter, lie informs his mother of the indications of a general awakening to an interest in religion among the students, and expresses a considerable personal interest in it. " For the sake of the institution, of religion, and for my own sake, I feel most anxious that the work may go on with power. With what joy would I inform you that I felt the strivings of the Holy Spirit in my breast. But I can only say that I feel a growing sense of humiliation for sin. May it ripen into conviction, sincere repentance, and unfeigned dedication of my heart, soul, and powers to God." He then asks for his mother's prayers, and thanks her for all her past kindness to him. The anxious suspense which this letter must have occa- sioned to the parent who received it, was dispelled a few days afterward by the following. Before perusing it, I wish the reader would look around, in the village or town where he resides, fix his mind upon the leader in all the opposition to God and religion which is made there ; some man of ac- complished manners and address, superior intellect, and ex- tensive influence, — and the open and avowed opposer of piety and all of its professors. You must have such a man in mind as the writer, in order to appreciate it at all. Then recollect that it is from an only son to a widowed Christian mother, — transcribed exactly from the tattered fragments which I now carefully put together. "Amherst College, April 28, 1827 " My dearest Mother, " Where shall I find words to declare the wonders of re- deeming love ? Even in my low state, Almighty God has not forgotten me, nor the prayers of my pious friends. How can I describe the peace of mind, the swelling, overwhelm- THE PARTING PROMISE. 347 Narrative continued. ing tide of joy which results from an entire submission to a merciful God ? I can only say, that there is no happiness like the happiness of a heart devoted to the holy pleasure of its Maker ; no peace, like the peace of a mind that is recon- ciled to God. At the beginning of the present week, my at- tention was strongly directed to the importance of the soul. I immediately relinquished all other business, and devoted myself to this. My sense of the justice and excellence of the divine law, of the holiness of God, and my own dreadful and sinful condition rapidly increased. Tuesday and Wednesday my distress and anxiety grew more and more overpowering. Under the alarming impression that I had committed the un- pardonable sin, I devoted great and anxious inquiry to the na- ture of it. When I found reason to believe that this sin could not be brought up against me, there seemed to be a gleam of hope. I felt, or rather learned that I must be wholly resigned to the will of God, yet there was great oppo- sition in my heart. For a long time it seemed as if I would readily submit if I was only sure of pardon. I was making conditions and struggling against impressions, and became almost desperate, believing that my guilt had shut up every avenue of hope. The conflict had prostrated my strength, and could not have been maintained much longer, when I was led to compare my situation with that of the lepers at the gate of Samaria, when that city was besieged by the Syrians : ' if they save us alive, we shall live ; and if they kill us, we shall but die.' If I continued to hold out against God, I should surely be cut off, and that without remedy ; if I surrendered myself unconditionally, and with an undi- vided heart, I still could but die, while there was every reason to hope that God would not reject a heart offered in sincerity and truth. Accordingly I struggled to obtain this frame of mind, and at length, as I hope, subdued my pride and hos- tility, so as to melt into perfect submission to the will of God, 148 THE CORNER-STONE. Narrative continued. heartily to confess the holiness and justice of the law, and freely acknowledge my own unworthiness. After I had been enabled by the divine blessing to do this, it seemed so reason- able, so altogether necessary and even so easy, that I mar- veled at the blindness and hardness of heart that had pre- vented my doing it long since. At the same time, I was filled with such transport, that it seemed to me as if I never could leave the foot of the cross ; as if I wished to retire from the world, and meditate and reflect on the loveliness of Christ. This happy change took place about Thursday noon The period of my greatest mental distress was Wednesday night. Nature was so exhausted in a conflict of a few hours, that I could scarcely stand. I found it impossible to eat during a great part of this time. The flesh is still weak, but I rapidly recovered strength as I gained peace. I now for the first time realize what is meant by saying, that ' old things are passed away and all things become new.' I no longer see the same countenances, read the same Bible, and feel like the same person. All my acquaintances are entirely changed. My pious friends once appeared gloomy and re- served, now they are benevolent and cheerful. My gay ac- quaintances seem no longer happy, but mad. The Book of God once seldom read, or when read, disrelished or misunder- stood, now seems replete with interest and instruction. I am filled with joyful amazement as I learn from it the love which Jesus has manifested for the world, and the purity and excellence of the divine character. At the same time it teaches numerous lessons of humility, gives an odious aspect to sin, and warns against our deceiving hearts. I reflect Avith horror and dismay on my former course of forgetfulness of God, and feel as if it were a privilege to be allowed to at- tempt, though feebly, to pursue a totally opposite course. The sense I have of my former character makes me feel deeply for all my impenitent friends. I feel constrained to THE PARTING PROMISE. 349 Narrative concluded. humble myself "before them on account of my former bad ex- ample and influence, and even with tears beseech them to turn from their sinful ways to repentance and faith. In short I feel a perfect good-will, I hope, to all the world, and banish hatred and envy from my heart where they had long been cherished. But, my dear mother, my hope is with great fear and trembling ; sometimes it seems incredible that such an one as myself should find any favor with God ; and if I have any hope, it is that Jesus Christ might show forth in me all long-suffering, for where sin abounded, grace doth much more abound. Sometimes I feel as if I was in rebel- lion yet ; but I do not rest at such a time till I resign myself anew, and without reserve to my Maker. But, dear mother I would that much fervent prayer might be offered up, that I may watch my heart diligently, and consider well the ground of my hope, and not be dangerously deceived ; and if I find myself under such an awful mistake, that I may not rest there, but give myself no peace till by sincere repentance and faith I may be reconciled to God in Christ. On the other hand if it should seem that God has magnified his long- suffering and the riches of his tender mercies in me, pray that I may be strengthened and established in repentance to- ward God, and faith in the Lord* Jesus Christ ; and that I may exercise all the Christian virtues, and walk according to the law of God, increasing in the knowledge of the truth and growth in grace, and joy in the Holy Ghost. Oh, my dear mother, on you, on me, and on all the world, may God pour out the influence of the Spirit, to guide and sanctify us, and fit us for an eternity of happiness in heaven. I would wish to write much more, but hope to see you next Saturday or before. My sincere love, and prayers to and for all friends. " Your affectionate Son." I have thus followed out this particular case, in order to 350 THE CORNER-STONE. Marks of genuine feeling. Religious meetings. give to my readers, by means of a minute examination of one specimen, a clear idea of the nature of the changes which were effected. There were, however, many other cases as marked and striking as this ; so that any person who was a member of college at that time, might be in doubt, after reading the preceding description, which of half a dozen decided enemies of religion, who were at this time changed, was the one referred to. In fact the feeling went through the college ; — it took the whole. Nothing like opposition to it was known, except that perhaps in a very few cases indi- viduals made efforts to shield themselves from its influence ; and one or two did this successfully, by keeping themselves for many days, under the influence of ardent spirit ! With a few exceptions of this kind, the unwonted and mysterious influence was welcomed by all. It was not, among Chris- tians, a feeling of terror, of sadness, and melancholy, but of delight. Their countenances were not gloomy and morose, as many persons suppose is the case at such a time, but they beamed with an expression of enjoyment, which seemed to be produced by the all-pervading sense of the immediate presence of God. I have seen, in other cases, efforts to ap- pear solemn, — the affected gravity of countenance, and seri- ousness of tone ; — but there was nothing of that here. Hearts were all full to overflowing, and it was with a mysterious min- gling of peace and joy, — an emotion of deep and overwhelming gladness in the soul, though of a character so peculiar, that it expressed itself in the countenance by mingled smiles and tears. The ordinary exercises of college were not interrupted. The President held two or three religious meetings during the week, but recitations went on unchanged, and I well recollect the appearance of my mathematical classes. The students would walk silently and slowly from their rooms, and assemble at the appointed place. It was plain that the hearts of many of them were full of such emotions as I have THE PARTING PROMISE. 351 The recitation-room. The circle for prayer. described. Others, whose peace was not made with God, would sit with downcast eyes, and when it came their turn