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SEW S
PREACHED CHIEFLY IN THE COLLEGE CHAPEL
BY
JAMES WALKER, D.D., LL.D.,
LATE PRESIDENT OF HARVARD COLLEGE.
BOSTON:
ROBERTS BROTHERS.
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Copyright, 1876,
BY ROBERTS BROTHERS.
CAMBRIDGE:
PRESS OF JOHN WILSON AND SON.
6
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.
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The revered author of these Discourses should not be held
responsible for their publication. Long since, he gave to the
ftames far the greater part of his unpublished Sermons. After
repeatedly refusing the friend, to whom he had given the scanty
remnant, the privilege of publishing a portion of them, he allowed
his scruples to be in a measure overcome, at the time of their
last interview.
Should any surviving friend of President I~7alker ask
whether he himself valued one of these Sermons above another,
we might reply, The only Qne, hitherto unpublished, which he
designated, is that " Upon the Sin of being Led Astray."
.
o
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a 
INTRODUCTION.
SHOULD there be found any one to ask, "Who was James
Walker?" there are many to answer, "He was the man
who first made me believe that religion is a real thing: in my
college days, the strength of his logic, and the majesty of his
earnestness, took my mind and heart captive."
Others, whose memories go back further, will reply, "More
than all men else, he was I a son of consolation' when my
house was left unto me desolate."  And they will add, "He
built up a strong parish from slender beginnings; his church
in Charlestown stood like a lighthouse to warn the young,
from far and near, of their perils; wherever he preached, he
was listened to as if men saw in his every look and word the
unmistakable credentials of a' great ambassador.'  In the
homes of the people he was simple as a child, yet profound
as a philosopher; at one moment overflowing with pungent
humor, his countenance the next moment eloquent with
pathetic seriousness."
He was a man unrivalled in sententious conversation, one
who, in later life, drew toward him the mingled homage and
respect of the learned men around him in other chairs of the
College which he honored successively as Professor and Presider; the man on whose counsel the student pre-eminently
,elied, when his mind was vexed with those problems which
concern themselves with the conduct of life, or the choice
of a profession. And he lived. to grow old; he went gently
to his rest with the benedictions of pupils following him from
their widely scattered homes, with the gratitude of the
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IN7'RODUCTION.
broken households who yet survived to revere the Pastor who
had served them more than thirty years before.
Never devoid of catholicity of spirit, the vehemence of
the youthful theologian became more and more mellowed by
a wide course of reading, and through the experience of life,
until at last we saw in him an impersonation of the apostolic
"meekness of wisdom," the like of which, in this world, we
can scarce believe that our eyes shall rest upon again.
Is it too much to hope, that without the magic of that voice
which filled all the chambers of the soul which it pierced,
without that pleading look which compelled the prodigal to
"come to himself," without the kingly silence in which the
preacher seemed to stand enthroned, without the retinue of
thirsting eyes which we saw fastened upon him, - these words
of his, saved from the ashes to which he had almost doomed
them, may fan the embers of our better natures into a flame
of heartier consecration?
* JAMES WALKER was born in Burlington (near WVoburn),
Mass., Aug. 16, 1794.   He was fitted for Harvard College
(which he entered in 1810) under Mr. Caleb Butler, Preceptor
of the Groton Academy.
He delivered the second English oration at his graduation,
in 1814. Among the classmates gathered before him, when he
appeared as their class-orator that year, were the late Rev. Dr.
Greenwood, and the historian, Prescott. Upon leaving college, he spent a year at Exeter, N. H., as an assistant teacher
in connection with the memorable  Dr. Benjamin Abbot,
Principal of "Phillips Exeter Academy."
The two subsequent years he passed in the pursuit of his
Theological studies at Cambridge, graduating in the class
which first left the Divinity School, in 1817.
* In the preparation of this biographical notice, we have been very
much  aided  by a  discriminating and beautiful  sketch of President
Walker, prepared by Professor Joseph Lovering, his life-long friend, for
the "American Academy of Arts and Sciences."
0
vi
6 
INTRIODUCTION.
After declining an invitation to settle in Lexington, Mass.,
he was ordained as the Pastor of the Harvard Church in
Charlestown, Mass., Feb. 11, 1818.  During the twenty-one
years of this ministry (which was a ministry to the social and
educational interests of the town, as well as to his own parish),
he was challenged again and again to come forth as a leader,
upon conspicuous occasions.  In 1832, We addressed "the citizens of Charlestown upon the one hundredth anniversary of
Washington's birth-day."  His ringing voice, bidding men
"be of good cheer," carried courage to many a faint-hearted
church and its youthful minister, upon the day of ordination.
The pages of the "Christian Examiner" bear witness to his
zeal in "every good word and work."  Besides many contributions at other periods to its pages, he was its sole editor
between the years 1831 and 1839. But a change of employment was at hand.
Hie retired from his auspicious ministry in Charlestown,
July 14, 1839, that he might become "Alford Professor of
Natural Theology, Moral Philosophy, and Civil Polity" in
Harvard College.   The public foresaw his illustrious career
at Cambridge (for his name had been suggested in some
quarters as a candidate for President as early as the date
of the lamented Pliesident Kirkland's resignation in 1828).
But we cannot wonder that his devoted parish clung to
him to the very last, and interposed every possible solicitation to compel him to decline this invitation to the Alford
Professorship. Nor were they wholly alone in their regrets.
In the many homes in which Mr. Walker was enthusiastically
welcomed, when he made "an exchange of pulpits," there
must have been those among old and young, whose hearts
sadly testified that this summons, "Friend, go up higher,"
betokened their being left, far more than before, beyond the
range of his voice or the clasp of his hand.  After leaving
the impress of his character upon many successive classes
who were brought into more familiar relations with him than
often happens at college, at the expiration of fourteen years
vii
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INYTRODUCTION.
(in 1853) he was transferred from the Professor's chair to the
office of President; which latter post he filled with signal
ability during the ensuing seven years, until, in 1860, his impaired health counselled his resignation.  But this event did
not remove him from all concern in the interests of the College which lie had loved so intensely all his life; the College
towards which he had long since taught the eyes of Charlestown boys to look wistfully. To its councils he had been
called thirty-five years previous as Overseer; of its Corporation
lie had been a member for nineteen years, before he became
its President.  And now, after a brief respite, we find him
once more, for ten years, a member of the Board of Overseers.
He survived his retirement from the Presidency more than
fourteen years. He had so meekly borne the honors with
which men had crowned him, that these later years of conmparative retirement were not rendered insipid fromn ladck of
excitement, but were, as he alleged, among his happiest; save
only that a portion of them were overshadowed by the death
of the wife, who for nearly forty years had been the companion of his studies, and the eager dispenser of his hospitality.  Mlrs. Catherine Walker  (daughter of  Dr.  George
Bartlett of Charlestown, MIass.,) died June 13, 1868, aged 70.
On his eightieth birth-day, Aug.  16, 1871, throulgh the
happy instigation of his life-long friend, Rev. Dr. Samuel
Osgood, of New York, a beautifuil cup and salver were presentad to him  by friends who had known and loved him in
Charlestown, Cambridge, and elsewhere.   A few weeks previous, he had the rare felicity of welcoming at his dinner
table, upon  Commencement  Day, seven of his surviving
classmates.
Dr. Walker edited " Reid's Essay on  the Intellctual
Powers, abridged, with notes from Sir William ttamilton,"
and I)ugald Stewart's "I Philosophy of the Active and Mioral
Powers of -Aan."
In 1810, and for three consecutive years, he delivered
courses  of lectures, before the Lowell Institute, upon XattL
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viii
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IVTRPODUCTION.
ral Religion, which excited a very deep and wide-spread
interest.
In 1863, a memoir of Hon. Daniel Appleton White, of
Salem, Mass., was printed, which Dr. Walker had prepared
at the request of the Massachusetts Historical Society; and
in 1867, he prepared a memoir, for the same society, of
President QuLincy.                     r
The fervor of his patriotism was attested alike at the beginning and at the close of our gigantic civil war.  In 1861,
he published a kindling discourse, delivered in IKing's Chapel,
Boston, upon "The Spirit proper to the Times."  The oration which he delivered, in 1863, before the Alumni of
Harvard College, remains in its massive simplicity an inspiring menmorial of his patriotic counsels.
A former series of sermons was published by him after his
retirement from the College Presidency.*
Hle died Dec. 23, 1874. His remains rest in Forest Hills
Cemetery, West Roxbury.
W. O. W.
KEENE, N. IHI.,
October, 1876.
The compiler takes great pleasure in acknowledging the
assistance of Rev. tIlENRY W. FOOTE, of Boston, in the preparation of this volume for the press.
* Dr. Walker testified his attachment to Harvard University in the
gift, by his will (with liberal increase), of the timely and generous benefaction which his firiends had  sent him  upon his resigning the office
of President.  This bequest amounted to fifteen thousand dollars.  In
addition, he gave the College, in the same instrument, his entire library.
He lfqueathed one thousand dollars each to the American Unitarian Association, and to the  "Society for the Relief of Aged  and  Indigent
Clergymen."
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ix
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CONTENTS.
I.
RELIGION NOT A SCIENCE, BUT A WANT...
II.
MAN'S COMPETENCY TO KNOW GOD......
III.
THE PHILOSOPHY OF MIAN'S SPIRITUAL NATURE IN
REGARD TO THE FOUNDATIONS OF FAITH.. 
IV.
PROVIDENCE.................
V.
SPIRITUAL DEATH.............
VI.
MIEANS OF STRENGTHENING AN INFIRM FAITH..
VII.
NOMINAL CHRISTIANS................
VIII.
THE DAILY CROSS............... 
IX.
ON KEEPING THE PROMISES WE MAKE TO OURSELVES
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18
37
62
88
105
125
137
156 
xii               CONTENTS.
X.
JESUS CHRIST MADE PERFECT THROUGH SUFFERINGS
XI.
HE KNEW WHAT WAS IN MIAN.........
XII.
SPIRITUAL DISCERNMENT..........
XIII.
PUBLIC OPINION.............
XIV.
AM I NOT IN SPORT?...........
XV.
HONESTY...................
XVI.
TIIE DANGERS OF COLLEGE LIFE........
XVII.
WHITE LIES..............
XVIII.
HOW TO MAKE THE SUN STAND STILL.....
XIX.
ON THE SIN OF BEING LED ASTRAY.......
XX.
THE YOUNG MAIN'S DREAM OF LIFE......
f
P A C- P.
172
185
202
222
241
257
272
288
306
321
335 
CONTENTS.
XXI.
MORAL DISTINCTIONS NOT SUFFICIENTLY REGARDED
IN SOCIAL LNTERCOURSE............
XXII.
ST. THOMAS, OR THE DOUBTING DISCIPLE...
XXIII.
THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT.........
XXIV.
THE POWER OF CHRIST'S RESURRECTION....
XXV.
OUR DUTY IN RESPECT TO OTHER MEN'S CONSCIENCES
XXVI.
PERFECTION THE CHRISTIAN'S AIM...;.    4
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PAGE
358
373
392
409
424
440
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SERMONS.
I.
RELIGION NOT A SCIENCE, BUT A WANT.
"As the hart panteth after the water-brooks, so panteth any soul after thee,
0 God!  My soul thirstethfor God, for the living God: when shall 1
come and appear before God?" - PSALM xvii. 1, 2.
HE  beautiful and plaintive psalm from which
my text is taken appears to be the composition of a Hebrew captive and exile, mloaning over
his hard fate in being doomed to live ill a strange
land and among an idolatrous people.  Continually
derided by those around him for still trusting in
Jehovah, by whom he had been to all appearance
forsaken; shocked and disgusted by the impure
and cruel rites he was witnessing fronm day to day,
-his heart yearned to be back amnong his countrymen, and take part once more in the only worship
which was worship to him, which met and satisfied
an irrepressible longing of his spiritual nature. "As
the hart panteth after the water-brooks, so panteth
my soul after thee, 0 God!  fly soul thirsteth for
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RELIGION NOT A SCIENCE,
God, for the living God: when shall I come and
appear before God?"
I am aware of no words in Scripture, nor indeed
in any other book, which so strongly express the
soul's need of religion. They will therefore introduce very properly what I am going to say on that
subject. I cannot help thinking that many perplexities in matters of faith would be cleared up,
and many so-called religious controversies be set at
rest, if men would accustom themselves to look
upon religion not as a science, but as a want.
First of all, let me explain as clearly as I can
what is meant when religion is spoken of as being
not a science, but a want.
You know how it is with man's relations to
society; - society is not a science, but a want. Of
course, we call make society a matter of science;
that is to say, we can speculate about the origin
of society, and about what constitutes a true society, and come to the same or to different conclusions, or to no conclusion, on the subject. But
these speculations do not make society any more,
or any less, a want of our nature.  The want is
founded in needs and cravings which pertain to
our nature itself, and exist antecedently to all
speculation, and independently of it.
So it is with religion. Some, perhaps, will object
that there is no analogy between the two laws here
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BUT A WANT.
supposed; or, at any rate, that the analogy fails in
an essential point. They may say our want of
society can be traced back to an instinct implanted
in our nature, - the instinct of sympathy; just as
our want of knowledge can be  traced back to
another instinct implanted in our nature,- the instinct of curiosity: but there is no such special
instinct to which we can trace back our want of
religion,- the soul's thirst for the living God. To
this, however, I would reply: when we refer to
special instincts in man we must not make them to
be separate entities, the aggregate of which constitutes human nature.  Human nature is a single
entity; and these instincts, as that term is here
used, are but the spontaneous and controlling tendencies which this nature manifests in the process
of its development: and one of these spontaneous
and controlling tendencies is to religion, -to religion of some sort or other.
Again, you know how it is with morality; - morality is not a science, but a want. Of course,
we can make morality a matter of science; that is
to say, we can speculate about its foundation and
motive and end, and the result will be a system of
ethlcs. But men do not become moral beings by
the study of ethics, any more than they become
rational beings by the study of logic. Men are'
moral beings because they have a moral nature;
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RELIGION NOT A SCIENCE,
that is, a conscience, an innate, inextinguishable
sense of right, which makes morality to be a want.
In the same sense, and for the same reason, religion is not a science, but a want.  I do not mean
that there is no such thing As a science of religion;
but this I say, - the scheme of religion is not religion, any more than the science of friendship is
friendship.  We speculate about God and immortality, about faith and prayer, and the terms of the
Divine acceptance, and come to various conclusioIns; and these various conclusions constitute our
various theologies and creeds, -that is, our science
of religion. But mankind were religious long before they had any thing to do with these religions
and creeds. MIen are religious beings because they
have a religious nature; just as they are social beings because they have a social nature, and moral
beings because they have a moral nature.
Religion, therefore, taking the term in its most
general acceptation, is a human want; not so
called because a want (Llways felt, but because a
foundation is laid in every soul for its being felt at
times.  It would be just as easy to find a people
without a disposition to society, or a sense of moral
distinctions, as to find one without any recognition
whatever of Divinity,- without reverence, faith,
worship, religious aspiration under some form or
other, and in some degree or other.
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BUT A WANT.
Here, then, is a view of religion quite distinct
from the question of the truth or falsity of any
particular and definite form of it; quite distinct,
also, from a consideration of its moral claims and
uses; and yet of great practical moment.
In the first place it helps to clear up what would
otherwise be a perplexing fact in history. I mean
the existence and prevalence of rude, grotesque,
and sometimes savage and cruel modes of faith and
worship. A religion which is to supply a natural
want will take more or less of its character from the
character of the want itself as actually developed
and felt at the time. It certainly must have been
so with the various forms of paganism; for these
were nothing but the growth of a particular state
of society and the human mind, and must therefore be expected to betray the limitations, the defects, the vices of their source. And even where
the religion originates in an express revelation, we
must presume that the whole will be accommodated
to the actual capacities and wants of the people
and the age.  Accordingly we have a succession of
revelations,- the patriarchal, the Mosaic, and the
Christian. It has been objected to the first two,
that they are confessedly imperfect when compared
with the last, and therefore cannot have come from
a perfect being. But those who take this ground
forget that the perfection of a religion consists in
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RELIGION NOT A SCIENCE,
its perfect adaptation to its purpose; in other
words, that the best religion for any people is not
that which is best in itself, but that which will best
satisfy their moral and religious wants, - ill short,
the best which they can bear.  "I have yet many
things to say unto you," our Lord is here speaking
to the twelve, "but ye cannot bear them now."
Certainly, therefore, we have the best authority
for holding that revelation itself is, and must be,
accommodated more or less to the condition of
those to whom it is addressed,- to their capacities
and their wants. And this applies especially to a
public religion; that is, to a religion intended for
a whole people, and not merely for the enlightened
few.
You will sometimes hear it said that religion is
wholly an affair between the individual and his
Maker; which is true in one sense, but not in
another. Everybody knows that there must be
a public as well as a private or personal re ligion; in other words, there must be a public
religion in order that there may be a private or
personal religion,- for the latter is nothing but the
former individualized, with slight variations. Tlhe
public religion must also take a positive form; that
is to say, it must express itself by means of insti tutions of faith and worship, which are generally
received; and to be generally received, they must
0
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. 
BUT A WANT.
be such as the age, the community, the sect are
generally in a condition to understand and appreciate. To a certain extent, therefore, it is with the
institutions of religion- by which I mean its outward forms and professions - just as it is with the
institutions of government. It is to no purpose to
say that the truest institutions of government are
the best: they are the best if the people are prepared for them, and can bear them; if not, they
are the worst. In reading ecclesiastical history,
many are offended and disgusted at the superstitions which prevailed in the Church of the Middle
Ages. But why this disposition to find fault with
what was manifestly a wise ordering of things? A
simple and more rational ministration of Christianity would not have taken hold of the imagination and the feelings of the people of that period;
that is to say, it would not have satisfied the religious wants of the then existing condition of society; in one word, it would not have answered its
purpose.
But is not this to reduce all rites and creeds to
a level? —to make one religion as good and as true
as another? I answer, No! The best and truest
religion, in itself considered, is that which is best
for the best people; but it does not follow that it
would be best for all people. The stumbling block
of the so-called radical reformers consists in ignor
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RELIGION NOT A SCIENCE,
ing the obvious fact, that minds must be educated
up to a condition or capacity to receive the highest
truths. The truth, these men will tell you, can
never do any harm; which nobody denies, if by
truth is meant truth understood; but truth misun derstood, as it will be if men are not prepared for
it, is one of the subtlest and often one of the
most mischievous of errors. It is still our interest
and our duty to seek out and to disseminate the
truest exposition of Christianity, - the truest in
itself considered; but this can be done in no other
way than by preparing ourselves and others to
understand and appreciate it. Meanwhile, differ ences will and must exist. Not different gospels,
as some are fond of saying: there is but one Gos pel, as there is but one Nature; nothing hinders,
however, the one Gospel any more than the one
Nature from being variously interpreted.  Nay,
paradoxical as it may seem, these different inter pretations, when adapted to the  corresponding
differences in mends minds, will so balance and
complement each other as actually to promote the
only unity and identity we  can desire.  I mean
unity and identity of effect; that is, the satisfaction
. of the common religious want.
This, then, is the first lesson to be gathered from
the doctrine that religion is not a science, but a
want.  Under a scientific point of view, it is plain
8
0
I',,  
BUT A WANT.
there can be but one absolutely true faith; it
argues however neither wisdom nor piety, but a
pitiable self-conceit, in any individual or in any
sect to think to have found it. Happily it is not
necessary to do so. It suffices, if the humble follower of our Lord has found enough of this truth
to make him an earnest, trusting, and devout ilac.
Elevate him if you can into the region of higher
and more spiritual wants; but, taken as he is, that
religion is practically the truth for him, which will
best answer the ends of religion in his case. Of
course, on this principle we must expect diversity,
-" diversities of gifts," "differences of administrations," " diversities of operations," - nevertheless, as the Apostle says, "it is the same God
which worketh all in all."  Observe, too, that the
practical evils sometimes incident to this diversity
do not come from the law of the diversity as here
laid down.  They come from not understanding,
or from attempts to contravene, that law; in other
words, they come either from urging reforms prematurely,- that is, before people are prepared for
them, -or else from a struggle to retain and perpetuate institutions which the world has outgrown.
Let us hope there is a tendency to agreement and
unity in what is absolutely true. And that this
tendency may become effective, let all the ways of
progress be thrown open; let the thought of man
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9 
10       R?ELIGION NOT A SCIENCE,
be as free as the air. What will satisfy him to-day
will not probably satisfy him to-morrow; still it is
true to-day as well as to-morrow that that religion
is the best for him, which, for the time being, will
best satisfy his religious wants, -the cry of his
soul "for God, for the living God."
Two other lessons are also to be gathered from
the doctrine of this discourse, which are more
directly practical: the first, respecting what we
are to do for others; the second, respecting what
we are to do for ourselves.
It is common for persons of cultivated and re filled        minds to express surprise and impatience at
the superstitious notions and practices which still
prevail.             These superstitions, however,  do  but
authenticate what has just been said in proof of
man's religious nature. Such is the need, the
craving, of the human mind for religion of some
sort or other, that, rather than have none, it will
accept it under the most grotesque and revolting
forms. And, this being the case, it follows that
the only effectual preventive or cure of supersti tion is to be found in the inculcation and prev alence of a purer worship. It is to no purpose
. to deride prevalent superstitions; it is to no pur pose   to rail against  them; nay, it is to no purpose
t     o      refute them. The bulk of mankind will never
be persuaded that their religion, however inade
0
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BUTA WANT.,
quate and corrupt, is not better than none. Some
communication with the mysterious Infinite, some
intercourse with the invisible world, they will and
must have. If you are dissatisfied with the popular faith, inculcate a better, exhibit the fruits of
a better, educate the people up to a capacity for a
better; but do not hope to correct the evil of
which you complain in any other way; do not
think to put down superstition by setting up formalism, or scepticism, or infidelity.
We should also bear in mind that what is
wanted is not a philosophy, but a religion.  We
may have all the argument on our side, and all
the learning, and a full proportion of the integrity
and honor; yet it will profit us nothing, if we are
suspected of being deficient in faith and piety, if
we have not an unction from the Holy One.  The
bulk of the community are not looking round for
the truest or the most consistent form of worship,
but for that which will best satisfy their religious
wants. Hence that sect will be almost sure to
be in the ascendant, which gives the most striking and unequivocal signs of seriousness and zeal;
which loves the most, and prays the most, and
d4es the most good. Enlightened views of Christianity derive an immense advantage on the intellectual side from the fact that they fall in with
the great movements of the age, and with the
0
11 
RELIGION NOT A SCIENCE,
highest and best thought on other subjects; but
this advantage will be more than lost, if the profes sion of these views fails to be connected with that
serious and devout habit of mind which is abso lutely indispensable to render any religion popu lar.  Let it, therefore, be universally understood,
that the mail or the woman who leads the public
to associate with any set of religious opinions un common  sanctity, does  more  to propagate those
opinions than the most triumphant display of
logic, or criticism, or eloquence.
Thus much we owe to others and to society.
Knowing that there is a want in human nature
which will lead either to religion or to superstition,
we see at once that the only effectual prevention or
cure of superstition is to be found in the prev alence of a pure and rational faith. This faith,
therefore, the enlightened and educated classes
are under a double motive and obligation to pro mnote by word and deed, by profession and life:
first, because it is the only legitimate means of
satisfying men's religious wants; and, secondly,
because it is the only effectual means of saving
the whole community from debasing and ruinous
superstitions.
And this is not all. In the last place, therefore,
and under the light of the same general principle,
let us consider what we are to do for ourselves.
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12 
BUT A WANT.
I have said that religion, of some sort or other,
is a universal and inextinguishable want; and this
is true. But all men do not feel this want equally,
and no one feels it equally at all times; and, what
is more, many who feel their need of religion when
they have occasion to use it, do not feel their need
of it when they have opportunity to acquire it.
There is nothing wonderful here; for it is just so
with the most obvious and universal of our bodily
wants,- the want of food. We all feel this want
when hungry; but it is not every one who feels it
or recognizes it at other times, so as to be put
upon providing the necessary food beforehand.
In the same way we all feel our need of religion
when we have occasion to resort to it for support
or solace, but not always when we have opportunity to acquire it; or we feel it but in a slight
degree, -not sufficiently to induce earnest action.
This is our great difficulty, the most serious obstacle to personal religion, as will readily appear
on giving a moment's thought to the real springs
of human action.
A man is not impelled to the pursuit of any
good by his knowledge or opinion of its nature or
relative value, but by his feeling of the want of it,
and the uneasiness which this feeling creates. The
spring of all human activity is in the uneasiness
that accompanies desire. As it has been justly
13
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14       RELIGION NOT A SCIENCE,
said, you may convince a man ever so much that
plenty has its advantages over poverty; you may
make him see and own that the handsome con veniences of life are better than pinching  and
squalid penury, - nevertheless, so long as he is
content with the latter and finds no uneasiness
in it, he will not move a finger to better his con dition. In the same way a man may easily be
brought to see and  own, in a general view of
things, that virtue is a more desirable object than
wealth; still, if from any cause his want of wealth
is the most keenly felt, he will bend all his ener gies to the attainment of that, and let the other
go, at least for the present.  And so with religion.
Men may estimate it in their theories above all
earthly possessions, and be perfectly sincere in
those estimates; nevertheless, in point of fact, so
long as they can content themselves without it as
a habit of mind, or think they can dispense with
it for the present, or imagine they already h]ave
enough of it, they will be sure to postpone its
earnest and serious cultivation to any the most
frivolous object which happens from any cause to
be uppermost in their feeling of want. No matter
.how much they need religion, it is only in propor tion as they actually feel this need that they will
be put upon acquiring it. It is not enough that
religion really is the best of things, and that every
0 
BUT A WANT.
one needs it above all things; nay, it is not enough
that we are made to see and own that religion is
the best of things, and that every one needs it
above all things. More than that, we must actually feel our want of it; it must become the object of our predominant feeling of want, creating
in us an uneasiness which will not let us rest until
it is attained. Why is it that the worldly-minded
seek first and chiefly the gratification of their
worldly ambition, even at the expense of what
they know to be far higher and better? Simply
and solely because in the existing state of their
habits and tastes and prepossessions they long for
the former, hut do not long for the latter.
Here, then, we behold at a glance both the evil
and the remedy. The evil is that we do not feel
as we should our need of religion.  I do not mean
in particular exigencies, but as a habit of mind,
as a quality of character; and the remedy is, to
quicken or renew this feeling, to unfold and cultivate a sense of our moral and spiritual wants.
There are those, I believe, who think it suf ficient evidence that they really do not want
virtue and religion, because they do not feel this
want. As if all the wants of our nature were
upon its surface; as if it was not the effect of
every step in human progress to awaken new and
higher wants.  The want of virtue and the want
0
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RELIGION NOT A SCIENCE,
of religion are real wants of our nature, as much
so as the want of knowledge or the want of b)read.
Nay, more, they are the highest wants of our na ture; but before they are felt to be such, educa tion, society, the individual, have something to do.
All, I suppose, will agree that a well-conducted
Christian education should aim to make the child
sensible and alive, as soon as may be, to the high est wants of his highest nature.  But who will say
that this is attended to as it should be in educa tion as commonly conducted at the present day?
On the contrary, are not the prevailing influences,
under which the rising generation are growing up,
such as to give in most cases a premature devel opment of their animal and earth-)orn wants, the want of dress, and luxury, and praise, and
money, -  while  the wants of the soul are not
known; or, if known, are not felt; or, if felt, are
not encouraged and sedulously cultivated?
What society and the world are not doing for us,
we must do with the help of the Holy Spirit for
ourselves. And, blessed be God! it is precisely
here that the sublime prerogative of reason, or
man's capacity of self-inspection, self-activity, and
self-culture, are most gloriously revealed.   The
inferior animals can satisfy the wants of their
nature as they arise; and this is all. It is given
to man alone, by communion with his own spirit
16
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BUT A WANT.
and with the Father of Spirits, by accepting the
means of grace and living the life of the Son of
God, by familiarity with noble sentiments and
noble characters and noble deeds, to unfold the
wants of his nature;  to unfold  themn more and
more, and to subordinate the lower to the higher,
and all to the highest, that mysterious but inextinguishable longing after the Unseen and Eternal.
"As the hart panteth after the water-brooks, so
panteth my  soul after thee, O  God!  My  soul
thirsteth for God, for the living God."   And
i Blessed are they which  do hunger and thirst
after righteousness, for they shall be filled."
1859.
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. 
MAN'S COMPETENCY
II.
MAN'S COMPETENCY TO KNOW GOD.
a Lo! these are parts of his ways; but how little a portion is hea  d of
him? but the thunder of his power who can understand? "- JOB
xxvi. 14.
APPROACH  the subject on which I am now
going to address you with unfeigned humility
and distrust. Whenever finite minds aspire to
know the Infinite Mind, they are admonished, at
every step, of the limitation and inadequacy of
their highest and best conceptions.  After we
have done all, we are constrained to say, in the
words of the text, "Lo! these are parts of his
ways; but how little a portion is heard of him?
but the thuniider of his power who can under stand?"
These very words, however, while representing
. man's knowledge of God as necessarily partial and
imperfect, make it nevertheless to bie real and
trustworthy as far as it goes. Accordingly they
bring up and, to some extent, answer the two
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I.  
TO KNOW GOD.
great questions, Are we competent to know God?
And-if so, to what extent?
These questions, I hardly need say, always have
been and always will be at the foundation of all
religion, natural  or revealed.   A  new  interest
and importance is also given to them by the turn
which infidel speculation has taken of late. The
history of unbelief is easily traced. First came
criticism, which led men to question every thing.
This was the period of scepticism. Many who
began with questioning the foundations of religion
ended with denying them. This was the period
of atheism. There, however, they found themselves pressed by new and unexpected difficulties.
To deny is to affirm; it is to affirm a negative,
making it necessary that the negative should be
proved, which is always of all proofs the most enm barrassing and unsatisfactory. The more thought ful and consistent among them have therefore
fallen back firom this position and taken another.
They do not deny the foundations of religion;
they do not even so much as question them: they
simply ignore them. It is the period of indiffer entism.
the ground here taken against all positive re ligion is not only more consistent than any other,
but also more specious and more formidable. It
is no longer the pride of human reason; on the
0
II 1-i
19 
MAN'S COMPETENCY
contrary, it would seem to be dictated by a modest
distrust of human reason. It does not, like the
atheism of the last century, undertake to account
for the origin of things without a God; it stigma tizes all attempts to account for the origin of
things in any way as a vain presumption.   It
does not dispose of the questions respecting the
existence or the attributes of God by answer ing them, but by refusing to entertain them, as
relating to matters which, whether true or not,
transcend human intelligence.
And what makes it worse is that language
equally strong, in respect to the incompetency of
the human intellect, is sometimes met with in the
writings of enlightened theologians and devout
Christians. These men believe in the existence
of God; but they would seem to do so under the
express conditioni that this existence is wholly and
absolutely  incomprehensible.   Are  they  aware
that, by taking this ground, they are paving the
way, however unconsciously, for that form of in fidelity or irreligion from which, as I have shown,
we now have the most to apprehend?  Perhaps
the language here objected to, especially when
met with in devotional works, is used to express
not so much a conviction as a feeling, - a feeling
of dependence and self-abasement; or, more prob ably still, the words are to be regarded as words of
0
2U
!" - I 
TO KNOW GOD
course, like conventional phrases of civility in letters or conversation,- an outward form of respect.
However this may be, one thing is clear if any
thing is clear. If God, as God, cannot be brought
in any way or in any degree under human cognizaniice, then what those who ignore all religion say,
would follow: it would be folly, and worse than
folly, to waste our time and thoughts on the subject. On this subject, however, I feel sure that
Christians, if they would take the trouble to understand themselves and each other, would find
that they do not differ so much as is generally
supposed. Certainly we do not apply epithets to
God without attaching to them any meaning whatever: we do not call him wise and good, perfect
and infinite, without having some notion of what
we mean by these terms. What could be more
unreasonable than to expect a man to express, he
knows not what, in words the meaning of which,
in this connection, he does not know? And besides, supposing a man not to know what he had
to express, I should like to be informed how it
is possible for him to know, after he has done,
whether he has expressed it or not.  He can know
it cAn the sole condition of being able to compare the
expression with the idea, s6 as to see whether they
agree or disagree; but how can he do this if he has
no idea, not even an imperfect or indefinite idea?
0
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MAN'S COMPETENCY
I am aware of the distinctions sometimes resorted
to in this case.  To know that God is, we shall be
told, is one thing; to know what he is, is another.
We should begin by proving that God is, and then
learn what he is, not from our own knowledge, but
fiom revelation.
Before proceeding to expose the fallacy in this
argument, I would emphatically disclaim all pur pose to call in question the importance and neces sity of the Christian Revelation, whether considered
as a means of confirming or of enlarging our knowl edge of God. Without meaning to deny that here
and there an individual, like Socrates, for example,
might attain to some just conceptions of the Deity
by the light of Nature alone, I still think that no
positive and public religion ever did exist, or ever
will exist, unless purporting to be of divine origin
and authority. It would argue an infinite conceit
in the religious teachers of a community to expect
that their private speculations on such a theme,
varying and contradictory as they must needs be,
would have much weight with the public or be
listened to long. Whatever power or dignity the
pulpit has, is owing mainly not to its learning or its
. eloquence, but to the generally acknowledged fact
that it does not speak-in its own name, but in that
Name which is above every name, and before which
every knee should bow.
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TO KNOW GOD.
What, however, has this to do with man's incompetency to know God? At the utmost it only
shows, not that God cannot be known, but that he
cannot be fully and adequately known without a
special revelation, which revelation we  have.   I
care not how much stress you lay on the importance and necessity of the Christian Revelation.
Make the gospel to be every thing, and natural
religion to be nothing; still I ask you to consider
the inconsistency, the manifest inconsistency, of
appealing to the gospel for proof that God cannot
be known in any way, when, as we are expressly
told again and again, the very purpose and object
of the gospel is to make God known. " And they
shall not teach every man his neighbor, and every
man his brother, saying, Know the Lord; for all
shall know me from the least to the greatest."
" And this is life eternal, that they might know
thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom
thou hast sent."
But I go farther. I maintain not only that God
is known through the gospel, but also that the
gospel assumes or implies, in almost every line,
that something at least was known of him before;
that is, by man's unassisted reason.  "For  the
invisible things of him from the creation of the
world are clearly seen, being understood by
the things that are made; even his eternal power
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MAN'S COMPETENCY
and Godhead." And here, as hinted above, it is
to no purpose to say we must begin by proving
that God is, and afterwards learn what he is, not
from our own knowledge, but from revelation.
How can we prove that God is, without first
understanding, at least to some extent, what he
is?  To prove that God exists, we  must prove
that a being exists possessing those qualities or
attributes which make him  to be God.  But how
can we do this while having no conception at all
of what those qualities or attributes are? In all
legitimate processes of reasoning, the only ground
for reliance on the truth of the conclusion is that
this conclusion is contained in the premises.  But
if we do not know, in any way or in any degree,
what the conclusion means, what right have we to
affirm, or even to conjecture, whether it is con  tained in the premises or not? So much, there  fore, I hold to be incontrovertible: our knowledge
must go as far as our proofs go. In other words,
we cannot prove we know not what.
Nor is this all. Why do we believe in the truth
of what is revealed in the Scriptures respecting
God? On the evidence of miracles, it will be said.
* Make the most, however, of these miracles; in
themselves considered they prove this only, that
the revelation has the sanction of a Power which
is able to suspend or overrule the laws of Nature.
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TO KNOW GOD.
To convert them, therefore, into a proof of the
Christian revelation, we must first assume that
God would not exert this power himself, or permit any other being to exert it, in order to sanction an imposture.  Unless  we assume  all this
beforehand, and unless we have a right to assume
it, the argument from miracles, as all must allow,
is not valid.  Now, on what ground do we assume
it?  Evidently on this, that it is not consistent
with God's moral attributes to permit a miracle
to be wrought in attestation of what is not true.
And this reasoning is good; but only on one condition, to wit, that we know what these attributes
are: for if we do not, how can we know what is
or is not consistent with them?
Moreover, we say as Christians, and say truly,
that God has revealed what he is; but how has he
revealed it?  Immediate revelation is out of the
question at the present day, except at any rate in
very extraordinary cases. The Christian revelation was made more than eighteen centuries ago;
it has been transmitted by means of human language, and exclusively, as Protestants contend, in
a book. "The Bible, and the Bible only, is the
reigion of Protestants."   Now  what does  the
Bible reveal respecting the Divine attributes? Is
it merely that God should be called wise and good,
perfect and infinite? Is it a matter of words only?
2
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25 
MAN'S COMPETENCY
Certainly not.  It is not the words considered
merely as spoken sounds or written characters,
but the sense of the words, which constitutes the
revelation. Obviously, therefore, it is only in so
far as we have not only the words, but the sense
of the words, that the revelation is a revelation
to us.
This, then, is the conclusion to which I am
brought. It may strike some, at first sight, as a
commendable humility to allege the incompre hensibility of God; but if we push this doctrine
to the extreme, if we take it to the letter, it will
be at the peril of all religion, revealed as well as
natural. As one of the old divines of the Church
of England 1 has said: "To give no other account
of the nature of God and his ways, than that
they are unintelligible, is to encourage the atheist,
and yield him the day; for that is the thing
he does chiefly applaud himself in, that he is
secure there is neither head nor foot in the mys teries of religion, and that the very notion of a
God implies a contradiction to our faculties."
This danger, then, was seen to exist two hundred
years ago; how much more at the present day,
. when, as I have shown, it will have the effect to
play directly into the hands of the latest form of
infidelity! Indeed, it is not easy to see what
1 Henry More.
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TO KNOW GOD.
material advantage, in a practical point of view,
the theist would have over the atheist, or the
Christian over the pagan, if neither the theist nor
the Christian knows any thing of God, except that
he exists, -nothing of his nature or character;
nothing, that is, which he can reason either to or
from in the way of conviction or instruction, of
warning or comfort or hope.
Accordingly I cannot, I will not, believe that
any thoughtful Christian, however he may sometimes express himself in his humility, or his perplexities, or for the honor of faith on this subject,
really means to be understood as saying that God
is incomprehensible in the sense of being wholly
and absolutely unintelligible. I cannot, I will not,
believe that under the accumulated lights of a
better civilization, a more spiritual philosophy, and
the Christian revelation, he would still have us go
on and erect altars, as they did of old, with this
inscription, "To TOTHE UNKNOWN GOD."
But here another question arises of greater difficulty and delicacy.  Granting man's competency
to know God, how far does this competency extend?  Granting that somnething can be  known
even of the divine attributes and perfections, how
much can be known?
In the first place, we are able to conceive of
those qualities and operations of the Divine mind,
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MAN'S COMPETENCY
in which we are permitted in some humble measure
to share. When we say that God is wise and just
and benevolent, we know what we mean; we mean
that he is wise and just and benevolent as men
sometimes are, only in an inIfinitely higher degree.
The mere circumstance that God's wisdom, justice,
and benevolence are infinite does not alter the
essential nature of these qualities; does not make
them to be any thing more or less than wisdom,
justice, and benevolence. You know how it is
with space.   The mere circumstance that space
is infinite does not alter its essential nature; as
space, it is still essentially the same thing as far as
it goes, whether limited or unlimited. And so of
the divine wisdom or knowledge; knowledge is
still knowledge, whether finite or infinite. No
doubt God has modes of knowing, and objects of
knowledge, which we can neither understand nor
conceive of; nevertheless, knowledge itself- that
is, to know, simply considered and as far as it goes -
must be essentially the same ill all knowing beings.
So likewise of God's moral perfections. I do not
suppose that we can now see in all cases the justice
and benevolence of the divine government; but
this is owing to the limitation of our present views
compared with the vastness and complexity of the
scheme. We still hold that the scheme itself, in
all its vastness and in all its details, alike in its
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TO KNOW GOD.
means and in its ends, is in strict accordance with
justice and  benevolence,  and with justice  and
benevolence as we understand them. We know
what wisdom and justice and benevolence are in
God, because we know what wisdom and justice
and  benevolence  are in ourselves, - the  latter
answering to the former, not indeed in degree,
but yet in essence and in kind, firom the fact that
God has created us, as the Bible says, in his own
image.
I am aware that the ground here taken has beeni
questioned even by Christians. Thus the author
of "The Light of Nature Pursued" contends that
" the faculties and operations of man differ in kind,
as well as degree, from  those of his Maker."
According to this writer, instead of holding that
man is really made after the likeness of God, it
would be much nearer the truth to say "that the
idea of God is taken from the likeness of man."
We select the powers and endowments by which
we ourselves are most distinguished, and after
separating from them all we deem a weakness or
imperfection, and heightening them to the utmost
pitch that imagination call reach, we make the
aggregate to be our idea of God; not because it
corresponds to the reality, but because we can
conceive of nothing better.
You will observe that writers of this class do
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MAN'S COMPETENCY
not regard the names they apply to God as ex pressing what he is; they use them merely as titles
of respect and honor. But is this according to the
Scriptures, or the obvious purpose and use of religion, or the general understanding of religious men?
I think not. When we aver that God is wise and
just and good, it is because we see, or think we
see, evidence in his works and word that he really
possesses those very qualities. And, besides, all
religious trust proceeds on the assumption that
God is wise and just and good, and in the sense
in which men are so, only infinitely more entirely
and perfectly. Make truth and justice to be one
thing in God and another thing in man, not only
in degree but also in kind, and after that, even
though we have the gospel in our hands, how
could we tell what to believe or what to expect;
what to hope or what to fear?
There is also a still more radical defect in the
doctrine under consideration. It does not recognize the divine element in the human soul.  In
other words, it does not recognize the identity of
basis, if I may so express it, of all spiritual nratures and all spiritual life; without which no
foundation is laid for that oneness in the Father,
that becoming "partakers of the divine nature,"
that life of God in the soul of man, of which the
Scriptures continually speak, and on which they
0
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I. w 
TO KNOW GOD.
make all our heavenly aspirations to turn. Neither
is it in the Scriptures alone that we have assurance
of these divine affinities; they are testified to in
the unutterable yearnings and longings of the spiritually minded men of all religions in all ages.
Thus far therefore, as it seems to me, we may
safely go. We can know the moral and intellectual attributes of God, because they are reflected however faintly in ourselves, inasmuch as
the human mind is made after the likeness of the
Divine mind. But what shall we say of those
incommunicable properties which belong to God
alone as the infinite One? Can we know any
thing of them? - and if so, how much?
God is revealed to us, in the universe and in
the Scriptures, as an intelligent cause or force;
and we know what this is, for every human mind
is to a certain extent an intelligent cause or force.
But in us the force, and the intelligence which
directs it, are dependent on other things, and
consequently are to this extent limited by other
things. When however we suppose these limits
away, as, in the case of a Being who has nothing
to limit him, we must, then the force and the
intelligence become infinite. To the reason, therefore, God stands revealed as infinite. Neither is
this a merely negative revelation, helping us to
know what God is not; namely, that he is not
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MAN'S COMPETENCY
finite: for to know positively that God is, and at
the same time that he is not finite, is to know
positively that he is infinite.   We  also have a
right to reason from this knowledge, and we do
reason from it every day, in respect to many of the
difficulties which trouble our faith. Even though
it may not always enal)le us to explain away the
, w   ttN kk,i m l,~z~ 9zttm -I   Am.  w S, im b, &e words the difficulty will cease to trouble us as
an objection, when we consider that many things
which are impossil)le with men must be possible
with God.
Here then we see the reality and the impor tance, and at the same time the extent and the
limits, of our knowledge of God as an Infinite
Being. We find no difficulty in understanding
that such a being exists; and, if he exists, we know
that many things which are impossible with us must
be possible with him: but how possible, we can
neither know nor conceive.
Hence what are called the mysteries of religion,
-the mysteries of creation, the mysteries of
Providence, the mysteries of grace.   It would
be well if the Church had always known how to
accept  these  mysteries without  making  them
the occasion of strife and tyranny. I certainly
cannot agree with those who contend that, "where
the mystery begins, religion ends." But this I say,
0
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TO KNOW GOD.
where the mystery begins, dogmatism should end,
- dogmatism  for, and dogmatism  against.   In
order to turn a mystery into a dogma and impose
it as a creed, you must first define it; but, as soon
as you have defined a mystery, th~ mystery is gone.
What remains is probably an unmeaning paradox,
or it may be a ghastly contradiction.
It is well that we should know as much of God
as is revealed in his works and word; and it is
well that we should not pretend to know any more.
When we pray, "0 Lord, touch our hearts, that
we may know the mysteries of the Kingdom of
Heaven!" it is not that we may see through these
mysteries so as to be able to understand them as
we do ordinary occurrences, but only that we may
know how to use them for spiritual edification.
Mysteries are not for noisy debate, they are for devout meditation; they are not for the faith of the
understanding, they are for the faith of the heart,
-now to inspire and exalt, and now to overawe
and subdue.
It is not enough considered that religious thought
has two purposes; one of which is to enlighten,
the other to move and impress. In the latter case,
the"very obscurity and indefiniteness of the thought
often minister to its efficacy. Doubtless we are
more enlightened by what is clearly seen; but it is
equally certain that we are often more moved and
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impressed by what is seen only in part, by what
is darkly suggested. Hence the secret of much
of that mysterious and overpowering fascination
which takes hold of nmost men amidst sublime
scenes, and chains them to the spot. Neither is
it in cultivated minds alone that this craving for
the vague immense is revealed. Why does the
savage'pause in his midnight journey to gaze into
the fathomless depths of the clear and tranquil
heavens?  What arrests his step on the sea-shore,
and makes him look abroad on the boundless ex panse of waters with a strange mingling of emo tions which he cannot describe, and for which he
has as yet no name? It is the instinctive senti menet of the infinite, struggling after an object with
which to be satisfied and filled. That object is
found in God alone, half understood and half not
understood.  As an old English writer has said
with his accustomed quaintness: " Ever since our
minds became so dim-sighted as not to pierce into
that original and primitive blessedness which is
above, our wills are too big for our understandings,
and will believe their beloved prey is to be found
where reason discovers it not. They will pursue it
through all the vast wilderness of this world, and
force our understandings to follow the chase with
them; nor may we think to tame this violent ap petite, or allay the heat of it, except we can look
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TO KNOW GOD.
upwards to some Eternal and Almighty Goodness,
which is alone able to master it." 1
I Let no one say, therefore, that our knowledge of
God is less real or less effective because it is incomplete and imperfect. If we could comprehend the
infinite as we  comprehend  the' finite, theology
might be a gainer, but religion would suffer. ReligionI, it cannot be repeated too often, is intended to
supply not so much an intellectual as a moral and
spiritual want. It addresses itself to our aspirations; not so much to the curiosity of men and
the speculative understanding, as to the sentiments,
and especially to that mystical but most characteristic sentiment in human nature, the desire ill man
to raise himself above himself.
Why then should we be unwilling to admit, as
the final and crowning source of our knowledge of
God, a practical, a direct, or if you will a mystical,
insight into divine things? -a something in faith
and worship, and in the thoughts which inform
and inspire both, which the devout soul feels and
knows, but which no logic can analyze and no
language express? I speak not now of that false
mysticism from which the world and the Church
ha.te suffered so much and so long; which disdains
the wisdom it might gather from daily experience,
and imagines impossible communications with the
1 John Smith.
0
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4 
36   MAN'S COMPETENCY TO KNOW GOD.
spiritual world. I mean a true mysticism, which
is favorable if not necessary to the life and warmth
of a sober and rational piety,- a mysticism which
supposes a real communion of the soul with its
Maker; which loves in order to know, instead of
knowing in order to love; w'hich knows the divine
from sympathy with it,- a mysticism which holds
no unintelligble language in speaking of things
seen or unseen, which makes no boast of its inward
experiences, nor construes them into an authority
to dictate to others,- a mysticism, in fine, which
understands that "faith without works is dead,"
which loves and serves the finite beings within its
reach; and, when the question is of the Infinite,
believes, adores, and is still.
1858.
6
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0 
PHILOSOPHY OF MAN'S SPIRITUAL NATURE. 87
III.
THE PHILOSOPHY OF MAN'S SPIRITUAL NATURE IN
REGARD TO THE FOUNDATIONS OF FAITH.
"Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things
not seen." - HEB. xi. 1.
AITH  is defined in Scripture as being "the
substance of things hoped for, the evidence
of things not seen." By it we can and do regard
many things which lie beyond the sphere of our
senses and actual experience as really existing, and
are affected by them as realities. By it the spiritually minded of all religious persuasions, in proportion as they are spiritually minded, feel a
confidence and practical assurance in the existence and reality of the spiritual world. It is
this principle which constitutes man, unlike the
inferior animals, a religious being; and it is by a
right development of this principle that we become capable of seeing Him who is invisible, of
being affected by those things which pertain to
our inward and spiritual life as if addressed to the
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THE PHILOSOPHY OF
senses, and of holding free, intimate, and habitual
communion with the Unseen, the Infinite, and the
Eternal.
Now it is remarkable of the infidelity of the
present day, that it strikes at the very existence
of this principle considered as an element or
property of the human soul. Not content with
disputing in detail the evidences of natural and
revealed religion, or driven perhaps from this
ground, it thinks to cut the matter short by deny ing that man has any faculties for the apprehension
of spiritual existences, or of any existences but
such as are cognizable by the senses, and so far
as they are cognizable by the senses. I have no
fears that many amongst us, or that any who are
accustomed to contemplate and study the work ings of their moral and spiritual nature, will be
seduced and carried away by this gross form of
sensualism, which they must feel and know to be
contradicted and entirely set aside by the facts
of their own inward experience. Still it may be
well in connection with the evidences of Chris tianity, to begin by setting forth, in the simplest
and clearest language of which the subject is
. susceptible, the true philosophy of man's moral
and spiritual nature in regard to the foundations
of faith.
In the present discourse I shall endeavor to
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MAN'S SPIRITUAL NATURE.
establish, illustrate, and enforce, as much at length
as my limits will permit, the three following propositions: -
First, that a little reflection will convince every
one alive to noble thoughts and sentiments, that
the existence of those spiritual faculties and capacities, which are assumed as the foundation of
religion in the soul of man, is attested and put
beyond controversy by the revelations of consciousness.
Secondly, that religion in the soul, consisting as
it does of a manifestation and development of
these spiritual faculties and capacities, is as much
a reality in itself, and enters as essentially into our
idea of a perfect man, as the corresponding manifestation and development of the reasoning faculties, a sense of justice, or the affections of sympathy
and benevolence.
And, thirdly, that from the acknowledged existence and reality of spiritual impressions or perceptions we may and do assume the existence and
reality of the spiritual world; just as, from the
acknowledged existence and reality of sensible
impressions or perceptions, we may and do assund  the existence and realities of the sensible
world.
These three propositions being established, it
will follow that our conviction of the existence
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and reality of the spiritual world is resolvable into
the same fundamental law of belief as that on
which our conviction of the existence and reality
of the sensible world depends.
I. My first proposition is, that a little reflection
will convince every one alive to noble thoughts
and sentiments, that the existence of those spiritual
faculties and capacities, which are assumed as the
foundation of religion in the soul of man, is attested
and put beyond controversy by the revelations of
consciousness.
Some writers contend for the existence of an
unbroken chain of beings, starting from the lowest
form of inorganic matter, and mounting upwards
by regular and insensible gradations to the highest
order of created intelligences. Others insist on a
division of substances into material and immaterial,
and make one of the principal arguments for the
soul's spirituality and immortality to depend on
the nature of its substance, and not on the nature
of the laws and conditions imposed upon it.
Happily, neither of these questions is necessarily
implicated in the views I am about to offer, and
both may therefore be dismissed at once from the
discussion; the former as being a little too fanciful,
and the latter as being a little too mnetaphysic;.l,
for the generality of minds.  It is enough if persons will recognize the obvious fact, that in the
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MAN'S SPIRITUAL NA TURE.
ascending scale of being, as the vegetable manifests
some properties which do not belong to crude and
inert matter, and as the animal manifests some
properties which do not belong to the mere vegetable, so man as man manifests some properties
which do not belong to the mere animal. He is
subject, it is true, to many of the laws and conditions of crude and inert matter, to many of the
laws and conditions of vegetable life, and to many
of the laws and conditions of animal life; but he
also has part in a still higher life, - the life of the
soul. He brings into the world the elements of a
higher life, the life of the soul; the acknowledged
phenomena of which can no more be resolved into
the laws and conditions of mere sensation, than
into those of vegetation or mere gravitation.  This
higher life, -consisting among other things of a
development of conscience, the sentiment of veneration, and the idea of the perfect and the absolute, -constitutes the foundation of religion in
the soul of man; the existence and reality of which
is attested, as I hold, and is put beyond controversy, by the revelations of consciousness.
I do not suppose, of course, that the existence
of He above-mentioned properties or affections of
the soul is matter of sensation. I do not suppose
that we can see, or hear, or feel, or taste, or smell
a mental faculty, a moral sentiment, or an idea.
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Their existence, supposing them to exist, could be
revealed to us by consciousness alone; and by con sciousness it is revealed to us: and the evidence of
consciousness in a question of this nature is final
and decisive. It is not a matter of sensation nor
of logic, but of consciousness alone.  We are con scious of their existence; and being so, whatever
we may say or however we may argue to the
contrary, we cannot, practically speaking, doubt it,
even if we would, any more than we can doubt
the testimony of the senses. Reflect for one mo ment. What evidence have you of the existence
of your own mind, - of the power of thought, or
even of the power or the fact of sensation itself,
- but the evidence of consciousness? Nay, what
evidence have you of your own individual being
and personality, - that you are yourself, and not
another; that you are a man, and not a horse or a
tree; that you are awake and alive, and not asleep
or dead, - but the evidence of consciousness?
None whatever.  You can say, "I am  conscious
of being what I am; " and that is all you can say.
An archangel cannot say any thing more. It is
not a matter of sensation or of argument, but of
. consciousness alone. If, therefore, you are con scious of possessing not only a sensual and an
intellectual, but also a moral and spiritual nature,
you have as good evidence for believing that this
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MAN'S SPIRITUAL NATURE.
moral and spiritual nature really exists, and that
you possess it, as you have for believing that you
exist at all.
"True," the sensualist 1 may say, "this does
prove the existence of something which we call
our moral and spiritual nature; but it does not
prove that this something belongs to our original
constitution, that it has its root and foundation in
the soul, that it cannot be resolved into a mere
figment of the brain." And then, in the accustomed vein of this philosophy, he will be likely to
ulrge: "Your conscience, - what is it? One thing
in the child, and another thing in the man; one
thing in this age or country, and another thing in
that; here expressly forbidding what there it as
expressly enjoins. And your sentiment of veneration, - what is it? To-day prostrate before sticks
and stones, to-morrow adoring the host of heaven;
among one people deifying a virtue, among another
a man, among another an onion; now manifesting
itself under the forms of the grossest superstition,
and now breaking out into the excesses of the
wildest fanaticism. And your idea of the Absolute and the Perfect, - what is it but an hallucination of the metaphysically mad; the finite vainly
thinking to comprehend the infinite? Do not all
1 The term is used in this discourse in its philosophical
sense.- ED.
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these things therefore, though they exist or are
thought to exist in the human mind, when a little
more carefully examined, look very much like figments of the brain? "
How long is the plain, practical good sense of
mankind to be abused by a sophistry like this,
which owes all its apparent force and pertinency
to a sort of logical sleight-of-hand, that, with a
quickness making it imperceptible to slow minds,
substitutes for the real question at issue another
having'nothing to do with the subject? So far as
the present discussion is concerned, it matters not
whether conscience, as already instructed and educated, always decides correctly, or never decides
correctly.   I am  not contending, as everybody
must perceive who is capable of understanding the
argument, for the correctness or uniformity of the
decisions of conscience, - a circumstance which
must depend of course on the nature and degree of
instruction and education it has received, -but for
the existence of conscience itself, not as a figment
of the brain, but as an element of our moral and
spiritual nature. What I maintain is simply this:
that every man is born with a moral faculty, or
the elements of a moral faculty, which, on being developed, creates in him the idea of a right
and a wrong in human conduct; which leads
him to ask the question, "What is right?" or,
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MAN'S SPIRITUAL NATURE.
"What ought I to do?" which summons him before the tribunal of his own soul for judgment on
the rectitude of his purposes; which grows up
into an habitual sense of personal responsibility,
and thus prepares him, as his views are enlarged,
to comprehend the moral government of God,
and to feel his own responsibility to God as a moral
governor. My reasonings and inferences, therefore, are not affected one way or another by the
actual state of this or that man's conscience, or by
the fact that probably no two consciences can be
found which exactly agree. A man's conscience
we must presume, according to the influences
under which he has acted, will be more or less
excited and developed, and more or less enlightened and educated. Still, we hold it to be undeniable that every man has a conscience to be excited
and developed, enlightened and educated; that in
this sense conscience has its root and foundation in
the soul; and that man herein differs essentially
from the most sagacious of the inferior animals,
and, unlike them, was originally constituted susceptible of religion.
And so, too, of the sentiment of veneration or
devotion, considered as an original and fundamental propensity of the human mind, I care not
so far as my present purpose is concerned under
what forms it has manifested itself, or to what
a
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THE PHILOSOPHY OF
excesses or abuses it has led. These very excesses
and abuses only serve to demonstrate the existence
and strength of the principle itself, as they evince
such a craving of our nature for religion that it
will accept of any, even the crudest and most de basing, rather than have none. Could this be, if
we were not made to be religious? No matter
what may be the immediate or ostensible object of
this sentiment, - a log, a stone, or a star; the god
of the hills, or the god of the plains; "Jehovah,
Jove, or Lord,"- still it is veneration, still it is
devotion. Neither can the principle itself, by any
show of evidence or just analysis, be resolved into
a mere figment of the brain or a mere creature of
circumstances; for, in some form or other, it has
manifested itself under all circumstances and in
every stage of the mind's growth, as having its
.root and foundation in the soul. The sentiment
may be, and often has been, misdirected and per verted; but there is the sentiment still, with noth ing to hinder its being excited, developed, and
directed aright: and the result is religion. There
is the sentiment disposing man to look upward to
a higher power, and inducing faith in the invisible;
. a quality in which the most sagacious of the infe rior animals do not share in the smallest degree,
and which proves, if final causes prove any thing,
that man was made for worship and adoration.
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MAN'S SPIRITUAL NATURE.
One word more respecting our capacity to form
an idea of the Absolute and the Perfect. The
shallow and flippant jeer, that it is the finite vainly
thinking to comprehend the infinite, comes from
substituting the literal sense of the term comprehend, as applied to bodies, for its figurative sense
as applied to minds; making the comprehension of
an idea to resemble the grasping or embracing of a
globe with the hands or the arms. Besides, we
need not say that man can, strictly speaking, comprehend the Absolute and the Perfect, but only
that he can apprehend them as really existing; and
there is this difference between the literal import
of apprehension and a full comprehension, that one
can lay hold of what he would not think to be able
at once to clasp. However this may be, it is certain that the idea of the infinite grows up in the
human mind as it is cultivated and expanded, and
becomes an essential condition of thought. As a
proof of this, let any one try and see if he can
separate the idea of infinity from his idea of space
and duration; or, in other words, whether he can
possibly conceive of mere space or mere duration
as otherwise than infinitely extended. Moreover,
tM very idea of imperfection, as such, involves at
least some faint glimmering of an idea of the per fect with which it is compared, and without which
imperfection would be to us as perfection.  In
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THE PHILOSOPHY OF
other words, if we had no idea of perfection we
could have no idea of its absence, which is what
we mean by imperfection. So likewise in contemplating things accidental and dependent, the idea
of the Absolute grows up in the mind, -the idea
of something that is not accidental and dependent,
and on which every thing that is accidental and
dependent leans and is sustained. In short, the
mind of man is so constituted, that in the full
development of its intellectual powers it can find
no real satisfaction, no resolution of its doubts and
difficulties, but in the idea of the Absolute and the
Perfect. Take away this idea, and existence itself
becomes an enigma, a meaningless and objectless
phantasm. Give us back this idea, and it again
becomes a consistent, intelligible, and magnificent
whole. Man, unlike the most sagacious of the inferior animals, is so constituted that this reaching
after the Absolute and the Perfect enters into and
forms an essential element of his moral and spiritual nature, giving him not only a capacity but a
predisposition for that faith which is "the substance of things hoped for, and the evidence of
things not seen."
Therefore do we say, and say confidently, that a
foundation for religion is laid in the soul of man,
the existence whereof is attested and put beyond
controversy by the revelations of consciousness.
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MAN'S SPIRITUAL NATURE.
This is my first proposition, and I have only to add
in respect to it two brief suggestions. If, as we
have seen, a foundation for religion is laid in the
soul of man, can we bring ourselves to believe for
one moment that it is laid there for nothing? And
again, if, as we have seen, a foundation for a higher
life than that of the senses is laid in the soul of
man, must it not be accounted a sort of insanity in
us, to say nothing of its sinfulness, to refuse or
neglect to build upon it?
II. Here my second proposition comes in, which
asserts that religion in the soul, consisting as it does
of a manifestation and development of our spiritual
faculties and capacities, is as much a reality in
itself, and enters as essentially into the idea of a
perfect man, as the corresponding manifestation
and development of the reasoning powers, a sense
of justice, or the affections of sympathy and benevolence.
Modern philosophy has revived all important distinction, much insisted on by the old writers, between what is subjectively true and real - that is to
say, true and real so far as the mind itself is concerned-  and what is objectively true and real, that
is tosay, true and real independently of the mind.
Thus we affirm of things, the existence of which is
reported by the senses, that they really exist both
subjectively and objectively; that is to say, that
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TEE PHILOSOPHY OF
the mind is really affected as if they existed, and
that, independently of this affection of the mind,
the things themselves exist. In other words, we
have an idea of the thing really existing in the
mind, and this is subjective truth and reality; and
there is also an object answering to that idea really
existing out of the mind, and this is objective truth
and reality. One sense therefore there certainly
is, in which the most inveterate sceptic must allow
that religion has a real and true existence to the
really and truly devout. Subjectively it is real and
true, whether objectively it is real and true or not.
All must admit that it is true and real so far as the
mind itself is concerned, even though it cannot
be shown to have existence independently of the
mind. It is a habit or disposition of soul, and in
any view of the matter the habit or disposition
truly and really exists. It is a development of our
nature, a development of character, and as such
is as true and real as any other development of
nature and character. Even if it feeds on illusions,
it is not itself an illusion. Even if in its springing
up it depends on nothing better than a fancy, a
dclreami, its growth in the soul and the fruit of that
growth are realities, -all-important, all-sustainring
realities.
I dwell on this distinction, because it is one
which the sensualists, from policy or perversity,
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UMAN'S SPIRITUAL NATURE.
would fain wink out of sight, making the question
at issue to be, whether religion is or is not a mere
illusion. This is not the question. Take any view
of the matter, take the sensualist's view of the
matter, and still it is undeniable that religion itself
as it exists in the soul of the devout is a reality,
as much so as any other habit or disposition of
soul, as much so as taste, or conscience, or parental
or filial affection; and its effects are as real.
Nor is this all.  Religion  in the soul enters
essentially into our idea of a perfect man. Suppose
a man perfect in his limbs, features, and bodily
proportions, but entirely destitute of understanding; would he answer to anybody's idea of a perfect man? No. Give him then a perfect understanding, but still let him be entirely destitute of
moral sensibility,   as dead to sentiment as before
he was to thought, - would he answer to anybody's idea of a perfect man? No. And why
not?  Because we mean by a perfect man  one in
whom the whole nature of man is developed in its
proper order, and just relations and proportions.
Now, as has been demonstrated, a foundation for
religion is laid in the human soul. In other words,
we-have spiritual faculties and capacities as well
as intellectual and moral faculties and capacities;
and the former constitute a part of our nature as
truly as the latter; and this part of our nature
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must be developed. Otherwise the entire man is
not put forth. Part of his nature, and of his higher
nature too, it may be said, is yet to be born; and
thus it is that a deep and true philosophy re-asserts
and confirms the Christian doctrine of regeneration.
We are born at first into the visible or sensible
world; when we become alive to the invisible or
spiritual world, we may be said to be born again:
and it is not till after this second birth that we
become all which, as men, we are capable of be comnling. It is not, I repeat it, until after this
second birth, consisting as I have said in a develop ment of our spiritual faculties and capacities, that
the entire man is revealed, or our idea of a perfect
man realized or approached.
Every well constituted mind must be painfully
conscious of this truth, though often without being
aware of the cause of its uneasiness, in reading the
lives or contemplating the fame of men of eminence,
and sometimes perhaps of integrity and philan thropy, but destitute of religion. Doubtless a man
may have some of the forms of greatness and
goodness without having all; and nothing can be
farther from my purpose or disposition than to
derogate from any form of either, wherever found
and however connected. Still, when we behold a
manifestation of the lower forms of greatness and
goodness without the higher, an impression is left
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MAN'S SPIRITUAL NATURE.
on the mind similar to what is universally felt on
seeing a foundation laid for a noble structure, and
that structure carried up far enough with the
richest materials to indicate the grand and comprehensive plan of the architect, which plan, however, from some cause has been" interrupted and
broken off midway.
Thus far have I reasoned, as you will perceive,
from what consciousness attests and puts beyond
controversy respecting the moral and spiritual
nature of man. Waiving the question whether
any thing exists out of the mind corresponding to
our idea of religion in the mind, -waiving the
question whether the objects of our faith have a
true and real existence independently of the mind
itself, -still the conclusion, as we have seen, is
unavoidable, that this faith has its foundation in
human nature; that its development is a true and
real development of our nature; and that it is absolutely essential to our nature's entire and perfect
development. Whether religion exists independently of the mind or not, we know that, to those
who have it, it has a true and real existence in the
mind; that it is a source of true and real strength,
solce, and hope; and that men, as men, can truly
and really do bear and enjoy with it what they
could not do, bear, or enjoy without it. Even
therefore if the discussion were to stop here, it
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THE PHILOSOPHY OF
would follow incontestably that to disown or
neglect religion because of this or that real or sup  posed logical difficulty, would be to do violence at
the same time to both those instinctive desires, from
one or the other of which it is said a rational being
as such must always act, -a desire of happiness
and a desire of perfection.
III. But the discussion does not stop here. I
maintain, and this is my third and last proposition,
that, from the acknowledged existence, and reality
of spiritual impressions or perceptions, we may and
do assume the existence and reality of the spiritual
world; just as, from the acknowledged existence
and reality of sensible impressions or perceptions,
we may and do assume the existence and reality
of the sensible world.
Most of you, I presume, are apprised of the
extravagance of scepticism into which men have
been betrayed by insisting on a kind of evidence
of which the nature of the case does not admit.
Some have denied the existence of the spiritual
world; others have denied the existence of the
sensible world; and others again have denied the
existence of both woilds, contending for that of
.- impressions or perceptions alone.  These last, if we
are to believe in nothing but the facts of sensation,
and what can be logically deduced from these facts,
are unquestionably the only consistent reasoners.
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MAN'S SPIRITUAL NATURE.
For what logical connection is there between a fact
of sensation, between an impression or perception,
and the real existence of its object, or of the mind
that is conscious of it? None whatever. I do not
mean that a consistent reasoner will hesitate to admlit the real existence of the objects of sensation.
Practically speaking, he cannot help admitting their
real existence if he would. Every man, woman,
and child believes in his or her own existence,
and in that of the outward universe or sensible
world; but not because the existence of either is
susceptible of proof by a process of reasoning.
Not the semblance, not the shadow, of a sound
logical argument can be adduced in proof of our
own existence or that of the outward universe.
We believe in the existence of both, it is true; but
it is only because we are so constituted as to make
it a matter of intuition. Let it be distinctly understood, therefore, that our conviction of the existence of the sensible world does not rest on a logical
deduction from the facts of sensation, or of sensation and consciousness. It rests on the constitution
of our nature.  It is resolvable into a fundamental
law of belief. It is held, not as a logical inferenot, but as a first principle. With the faculties
we possess, and in the circumstances in which we
are placed, the idea grows up in the mind, and we
cannot expel it if we would.
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THE PHILOSOPHY OF
Now the question arises, On what does a devout
mnan's conviction of the existence and reality of
the spiritual world depend? I answer, On the very
same. He is conscious of spiritual impressions or
perceptions, as he also is of sensible impressions or
perceptions; but he does not think to demonstrate
the existence and reality of the objects of either
by a process of reasoning. He does not take the
facts of his inward experience, and hold to the exist  ence and reality of the spiritual world as a logical
deduction from these facts, but as an intuitive sug  gestion grounded on these facts. He believes in
the existence and reality of the spiritual world, just
as he believes in his own existence and reality, and
just as he believes in the existence and reality of
the outward universe, - simply and solely because
he is so constituted that with his imnpressions or
perceptions he cannot help it. If he could, it
would be to begin by assuming it to be possible that
his faculties, though in a sound state and rightly
circumstanced, may play him false; and if he could
begin by assuming this as barely possible, there
would be an end to all certainty. Demonstration
itself, ocular or mathematical, would no longer be
.eground of certainty. It is said that sophistical
reasoning has sometimes been resorted to in proof
of the existence and reality of the spiritual world;
and this perhaps is true: but the error has con
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MAN'S SPIRITUAL NATURE.
sisted in supposing that any reasoning is necessary.
It is not necessary that a devout man's conviction
of the existence and reality of the spiritual world
should rest on more or on better evidence than his
conviction of the existence and reality of the sensible world; it is enough that it rests on as much,
and on the very same. It is enough that both are
resolvable, as I have shown, into the same fundamental law of belief; and that, in philosophy as
well as in fact, this law ought to exclude all doubt
in the former case, as well as in the latter.
But how, it may be asked, according to the
views here presented, can we account for the fact
of such different and conflicting spiritual impressions or perceptions? If a spiritual world really
exists, why do not all men apprehend it alike?
Because, I hardly need reply, it is contemplated
under such widely different aspects, and by persons whose spiritual faculties and capacities are
variously developed, and above all because in
spiritual things the best people are so prone to mix
up and confound their inferences with their simple
perceptions. There is nothing, therefore, in the
real or apparent diversity of our spiritual impressiouns or perceptions which should shake our confidence in the principle, that, to a rightly constituted
and fully developed soul, moral and spiritual truth
will be revealed with a degree of intuitive clear
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THE PIIIL OSOPHY OF
ness and certainty equal at least to that of the objects of sense. Besides, a like diversity in our
views and theories prevails in respect to the material world; but nobody thinks, merely on the
strength of this, seriously to raise a doubt whether
the material world exists at all. And it is further
urged, that the most spiritual men may sometimes
be tempted to say of their religious experience,
"Perhaps it may turn out to be an illusion;" yet
it should be recollected that this is no more than
what they may also, in moments of inquietude and
despondency, be tempted to say of all their experience. They may say of all their experience,
"Perhaps it may turn out to be an illusion."  At
this very moment, when I seem to myself to be
writing a discourse on the Christian evidences,
how do I know but that really I am in my bed
dr-eaming about it? We may talk in this way, I
know, about dreams, illusions, visions; but it is
certain that to a well constituted and well ordered
mnind it never has occasioned any real doubt or difficulty, nor ever can, in regard to ordinary life;
and for the same reason neither ought it to do so
in regard to the life of the soul.
Once more.  What, according to the doctrine
advocated in these pages, shall we reply to those
who may affirm that they never had any of our
alleged spiritual impressions or perceptions? Pre
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MAN'S SPIRITUAL NATURE.
cisely what we should to those who might say that
they never had any of our alleged moral impressionls or perceptions; any sense of justice, or honor,
or disinterested benevolence, or natural affection.
We should reply, -  that we are very sorry for it.
If, however, along with their scepticism they evince
any love of the truth, any desire or willingness to
have their doubts dispelled, any tenderness of conscience or of soul, we may reason with them, and
not without some prospect of convincing them that
their want of faith is to be ascribed to one or both
of the two following causes: either to a vicious or
defective development of their nature, or to their
insisting on a kind of evidence, of which the subject, from its very nature, is not susceptible. Either,
fromn some defect or vice of their peculiar moral
constitution or training, they are not prepared to
appreciate the only appropriate or possible evidence
in the case; or, from ignorance of true philosophy,
they require the sort of evidence for truths addressed to one faculty, which is available only in
regard to truths addressed to another. By insisting on these topics, it is not improbable that many
apparent atheists may be reclaimed.  "In days of
crils and agitation," says an eminent French philosopher,  "together with  reflection, doubt  and
scepticism enter into the minds of many excellent
men, who sigh over and are affrighted at their own
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THE PHILOSOPHY OF
incredulity. I would undertake their defence
against themselves; I would prove to them that
they always place faith in something.... WVhen
the scholar has denied the existence of God, hear
the man; ask him, take him at unawares, and you
will see that all his words imply the idea of God;
and that faith in God is, without his knowledge, at
the bottom of his heart." 1
As for the rest, the propagandists of atheism, the
men who love atheism from eccentricity, or misanthropy, or deadness of soul,- I say it with submission, but I say it with the utmost possible confidence
in the wisdom of the course, Let them alone. Conversion by the ordinary modes of instruction and
argument is precluded. Gratify them not with a
few short days of that notoriety which they so
much covet. Leave them to the natural influences
of their system; leave them to the silent disgust
which their excesses must awaken in a community
not absolutely savage; leave them to the cant and
priestcraft of a few ignorant and interested leaders;
and it is not perhaps entirely past all hope that,
in this way, some of them may be so far reclaimed
as to become ashamed of their cause, ashamed of
one another, and ashamed of themselves.
Meanwhile let us hope that a better philosophy
than the degrading sensualism, out of which most
1 Cousin's Introduction to the History of Philosophy, pp. 179, 180.
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MAN'S SPIRITUAL NATURE.
forms of modern infidelity have grown, will prevail; and that the minds of the rising generation
will be thoroughly imbued with it. Let it be a
philosophy which recognizes the higher nature of
man, and aims in a chastened and reverential spirit
to unfold the mysteries of his higher life. Let it
be a philosophy which comprehends the soul,- a
soul susceptible of religion, of the sublime principle of faith, of a faith which "entereth into that
within the veil." Let it be a philosophy which
continually reminds us of our intimate relationship
to the spiritual world; which opens to us new
sources of strength in temptation, new sources
of consolation in trouble, and new sources of life
in death; nay, which teaches us that what we
call death is but the dying of all that is mortal,
that nothing but life may remain. Let it be a
philosophy which prepares us to expect extraordinary manifestations of our heavenly Father's love
and care, and which harmonizes perfectly with the
sublime moral purpose and meaning of the gospel,
"casting down imaginations and every high thing
that exalteth itself against the knowledge of God,
and bringing into captivity every thought to the
obedience of Christ."
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1834. 
PR OVIDENCE.
IV.
PROVIDENCE.
"Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not
fall on the ground without your Father. But the very hairs of your
head are all numbered." - MATTHEW x. 29, 30.
HESE words will suggest the subject of my
discourse; namely, the immediate and uni versal providence of God.
At first sight we might presume that every sin cere and earnest student of nature would devoutly
recognize the Creator in his works. But distin guished names in the history of science will occur
to every one, which remind us that it is not so;
and there is a well-known principle of the human
mind, which will help us to explain the fact. It
is the business of the physical inquirer to trace
phenomena to what are called the laws of nature,
o and there stop. This, in time, begets a habit of
mind which controls not only his curiosity, but his
associations; every phenomenon he beholds suggests
the law which explains it, but nothing beyond the
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law. This habit of mind will also be very apt to
affect his modes of expression, and all his scientific
expositions; when he has referred an event to the
laws of nature, he will think that he has gone as
far as it is his province to go.
Now we have no right to say of such a person,
that he is an atheist; we have no right even so
much as to suspect that he has taken up and considered the theological question, and come to the
conclusion that there is no God. The most that
we have a right to say is, that the religious references in the case have dropped out of the chain of
his associations. Still this alone is enough to show
that, in one respect at least, the progress of science
has been unfavorable to religious views of the universe. Formerly, when every unusual and startling phenomenon was referred directly to God, God
seemed to be nearer to men than now; he was
more on their lips, hlie was more in their thoughts,
than now. These laws of nature, which are referred to so frequently, have to a certain extent
usurped his place.  "All things," we say, "take
place according to the laws of nature;" as if nothimg more was to be said about it; as if these laws
wee to be rested in as an efficient and ultimate
cause; as if they could explain any thing, until
they are themselves explained; as if they made the
instant agency of the Deity any the less necessary,
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PROVIDENCE.
without whom not a sparrow falleth to the
ground.
What are these lawus of nature, which are thus
allowed to form themselves into a sort of cloudy
screen between us and God? When we reason
from adaptation to contriv'ance, and say that the
world supposes a maker just as much as a watch,
there is one point where the analogy fails. The
watch-maker has the materials furnished to his
hands. He does not make the laws of nature: he
only makes use of them. He ascertains what these
laws are; and, knowing this, he puts the parts of
the mechanism together, and the laws of nature
do the rest. Accordingly we may say with suffi cient propriety that the watch goes by virtue of
the laws of nature, and not by the continued
agency of the man who made it. But in the
making and sustaining of the world it is otherwise.
God not only framed the stupendous mechanism of
the universe, but created the materials, and im pressed upon them their respective laws, so that
each might perform its part in the vast whole.
WVith the mere mechanic, mechanism is every thing;
that is, the form, colnnection, and relative propor tions of the parts: with God it is as nothing.  He
might have adopted a different mechanism, and
still, by altering the laws of the parts relatively to
each other, he might have brought about the satuie
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PROVIDENCE.
result. Every thing depends, therefore, on these
laws; but what do the laws themselves depend
upon? Are they any thing but the constant and
immediate action of God on every particle of matter
in the universe?
This is the conception which seems best to accord with the nature of things, and the facts to
be explained; and accordingly it has been adopted
not only by many divines and metaphysicians, but
by some of the most earnest and single-minded of
physical inquirers, with Sir Isaac Newton, himself
a host, at their head. In the observations on the
nature of the Deity, with which that wonderful
man closes his " Optics," he declares that the
various portions of the world, organic and inorganic, "can be the effect of nothing else than
the wisdom and skill of a powerful, ever-living
Agent; who, being in all places, is more able by
his will to move the bodies within his boundless
uniform sensorium, and thereby to form and reform the parts of the universe, than we are by
our will to move the parts of our own bodies."
This conviction would also seem to be gaining
ground from the countenance it has received of
late-*from several of the leading minds ill the
scientific world. Thus Sir John Herschel, after
speaking of certain fixed qualities and powers
with which God has impressed the materials of
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PROVIDENCE.
the universe, is careful to add: "We would in
no way be understood to deny the constant exer cise of his direct power in maintaining the system
of nature, or the ultimate emanation of every
energy which  material  agents exert from  his
immediate will, acting in conformity with its own
laws." 1 Professor Whewell is still more explicit:
"A  law supposes an agent and a power; for it
is the mode according to which the agent pro ceeds, the order according to which the power
acts.  Without the presence of such an agent, of
such a power, conscious of the relations on which
the law depends, producing the effects which the
law prescribes, the law can have no efficacy, 110o
existence. Hence we infer that the intelligence
by which the law is ordained, the power by which
it is put in action, must be present at all times
and in all places where the effects of the power
occur; that thus the knowledge and the a(gency
of the Divine Being pervade every portion of the
universe, producing all action and passion, all per manence and change." 2
With such authorities in favor of this concep tion, I suppose I might take it for granted, and
*  go on; but, as the subject is an important one, I
am tempted to add a suggestion or two, which
I Study of Natural Philosophy, p. 37.
2 Bridgewater Treatise, b. iii. c. viii. p. 185.
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PROVIDENCE.
may help to familiarize minds unaccustomed to
the subject with the idea, and dissipate halfformed objections and doubts.
The phrase, "laws of nature," is a figure of
speech borrowed from human legislation; and, by
pushing the analogy further than it will properly
go, many slide into the belief that these laws were
decreed once for all, like human laws, to exist and
be in force ever afterwards of themselves. So it
might have been, if, as in the case of human laws,
there were minds to understand, remember, and
apply them; but nothing like this is true of inert
matter.  "Yes, but cannot inert matter be made
to obey them?" Certainly it can; and that is
just what we are maintaining. We only say that
our conceptions of matter will not allow us to suppose that it can make itself obey them. It can do
nothing whatever of itself; it can move only as it
is moved. All this holds good even of what are
called the mechanical laws of matter: how much
more clearly and manifestly of the countless forces
of life and growth, which we cannot conceive of,
even in thought, except as dependent on the Force
of all forces, in and through which they exist and
act! Here, as it seems to me, the reasoning of Dr.
Clarke is conclusive.  "Matter is evidently not
capable of any laws or powers whatsoever, any
more than it is capable of intelligence, excepting
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PROVIDENCE.
only this one negative power; that every part of it
will always and necessarily continue in that state,
whether of rest or motion, wherein it at present is.
So that all those things which we commonly say
are the effects of the natural powers of matter and
laws of motion, - of gravitation, attraction, or the
like, - are indeed (if we will speak strictly and
properly) the effects of God's acting upon matter
continually and every moment, either immediately
by himself, or mediately by some created intelli gent being."
It is hardly to be expected that any one will
revive the old Epicurean objection to this doctrine,
that such continual overseeing and interfering must
disturb the divine tranquillity. On the contrary,
adopting the theory that the world was made in
the beginning, and then wound up like a clock,
and left to run on until it runs down, is it easy to
repress the inquiry, What is the Creator doing
meanwhile? According to the common accepta tion, it is essential to spiritual natures to be know ing and active. If so, must we not believe that
God, who is an Infinite Spirit, exists at every in stant of time in every point of space, knowing and
active? Can we separate from the common, from
the only true and legitimate, from the only possi ble, conception of an Infinite Spirit the conviction
that he is the universally diffused, all-sustaining,
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PROVIDENCE.
and all-directing Energy? I think not. Reasoning then from the nature of God, we come to the
very same conclusion as in reasoning from the
nature of matter. "The universe exists in God;
and every change in its state, from the extinction
of a system of worlds to the falling of a feather
from a sparrow's wing, is his act." It would save
many minds from much perplexity and embarrassment on this subject, if they would give over
thinking to assign to the Infinite Spirit a local
cenitre of thought and activity. If they must
have a sensorium, let it be Newton's "boundless
uniform sensorium." God, as it has been sublimely said, is a circle whose centre is everywhere,
whose circumference is no where: "overseeing"
and "interference," therefore, are words which in
respect to him have no meaning.
Another objection to the religious view here
taken of the divine agency, is sometimes insisted
on by a different class of minds. It would detract,
they think, from the skill of the Divine Architect,
to suppose that in the fabric of the universe he
has put together a piece of mechanism which requires mending or interposition of any sort. Undoutedly it would, but nothing like this is said or
intended. Here I might protest, if it were necessary, against this practice of drawing illustrations
of the divine agency almost exclusively from the
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slight and inadequate analogy of mechanical
contrivances; but it is not. Let it be that the
mechanism of the universe is perfect;  that it
never wears out; that it never needs readjust  ment.   One thing, however, should be remem  bered: it is essential to the very idea of mechanism
that a force be applied,- some weight, or spring,
or other power which is continually acting upon it,
and from which all its motions are derived. Now,
in the case of the mechanism of the universe,
where is this moving force to be found but in
the universally diffused, all-directing, ever-active
energy of God?
But it may be asked again, is it not derogatory
to the dignity of the Supreme Being, that he
should "set his hand to every thing," - even to
things mean and unimportant? This objection is
as old as Aristotle.  "If," said he, "it were not
congruous in respect of the state and majesty of
Xerxes, the great king of Persia, that he should
condescend to do all the meanest offices himself,
much less can this be thought suitable in respect
of God." How paltry and insignificant do these
distinctions of earthly pride appear, when viewed
e in relation to the divine presence and agency!
Who shall say what things are "mean and insig  nificant," when it is considered that every link in
the chain of events is alike indispensable to the
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PROVIDENCE.
mighty results which an all-wise Providence is
slowly unfolding?  Besides, what are differences
of the finite to the Infinite? Grant that He stoops
to take care of the solar system, and I find no difficulty in supposing that he also stoops to take
care of man, of an insect, of a worm.
Accordingly I hold, that in the natural world
the hand of God is everywhere in every thing,
holding the sun in its place, and also the mote in
the sun's beam:  the volcano and the bursting
flower equally announce his presence. We talk
about laws and mechanisms and organisms; and
no one can object to this, for such they are to our
winds: butqvhen we ask ourselves what they are
in themselves, what gives life and force to the
whole, the veil is lifted, and the constant and
immediate agency of the  Infinite  Mind stands
revealed.   Suppose  this  all-sustaining,  self-sustained agency to be withdrawn for an instant, and
the law, and the mechanism, and the organism
would cease to act, would cease to be; the universe itself rush back into its primitive nothingness. The error of the pantheists consists in
identifying nature with God; the error of the
mechanical philosophers consists in making nature independent of God, at least in its present existence and operation.   Both  errors are to be
avoided; the latter as well as the former: other
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wise we-shall lose ourselves in the phenomena, the
appearances, and make no account of the reality.
It was not without reason that Newton "thought
it most unaccountable to exclude the Deity only
from the universe," -the Deity by whom it is
upheld and filled.  Speculations are going on at
this moment respecting the nature of light, and
the profound affinities of electricity and magnet ism, and even life itself, which seem to point to
laws of nature which transcend matter. We may
presume that these will have a tendency to lead
science to take a more spiritual and religious view
of nature itself.  The office of science will still
be to trace phenomena to the laws of nature; but
when to the eye of faith these laws are seen to
resolve themselves into the direct agency and con trol of the Lord of Nature, instead of forming a
cloudy screen between us and him, they will help
us to feel and to know that everywhere and at all
times we are in his immediate presence.
If this conception of the laws of nature be
accepted as the true one, what need is there of a
labored argument to prove an immediate and uni versal Providence without which not a sparrow falls
e to the ground? Nature itself is providence, and noth ing but providence; its laws are not merely the work
of God, they are God working; and, as we have
seen before what the character of the Lord of
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Nature is, we may infer what the character of
this providence must be.
But there are two or three points of view under
which the doctrine of providence, as here unfolded,
deserves and requires particular notice.
In the first place, when rightly understood and
applied, it will banish for ever the thought of
chance, accident, or fortune, as having nothing whatever to do with the course of events. And here
the error is deeper and more widely spread than
many are willing to suppose. As it has been justly
said:" Some things look so like chance that we
have difficulty in connecting them with the notion
of Providence.  We think the sparrow not formed
by chance; we argue a Creator there: but by
chance we think it may fly hither and thither. In
human life many occurrences have a very fortuitous
appearance. We cannot trace either their causes
or their consequences.  They are as the tree which,
we say, happened to fall in one direction and not
in another. They are as the wind which, we also
say, happened to blow firom one point of the compass yesterday, and from another to-day."  "Our
language is framed on the supposition of a mingling
of accident with order, of chance with design. It
is framed on a false supposition. We are often
aware of this on reflection; and yet we are so
familiarized with such language, that we perhaps
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PRO VIDENCE.
unlconlsciously delude our own minds by its use,
and keep up a notion of the incompatibility of
a Providence with the particular events so de scril)ed." 1
Looking back on the pastlhistory of mankind, it
is easy to see that two opposite tendencies have
l)een at  work, at different stages in the development
of human thought, to impair or dim the doctrine of
a     strictly immediate and universal Providence.  At
first men saw the hand of God only ill strange and
startliing phenomena,  in the whirlwind, the light ning, the earthquake. Afterwards, as these also fell,
one after another, under the domain of order and law,
and were explained and accounted for by science
on mechanical principles, men began to see design
in         the   whole, but not the instant and constant
presence and influence of the Designer in the whole
and        in every part.  Now we must not expect that
science will go back: this would be to contradict
and falsify the experience of ages and the nature
of truth itself. Let science go on, and demonstrate
that every thing is ordered. It is not by chance
that a  bird flies hither or thither; the tree does
not     happen to fall, or the wind to blow, this way
.or that: all is ordered. But we must go one step
further. We must enter into the sublime conception, that the life and soul of this order, the all
1 FoX'8 "Christ and Christianity," i. 177.
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PROVIDENCE.
sustaining, ever-active energy without which the
whole would be nothitng, without which not a leaf
in the forest stirs, is God.
Again, it has been customary to lay a good deal
of stress on the distinction between a General
Providence and a Particular Providence, especially
as regards the efficacy of prayer: but in the
doctrine here maintained of an immediate and universal Providence, this distinction disappears, and
with it many  difficulties both  speculative  and
practical.
If by a general providence nothing more is meant
tha,n the general provision which God has made for
mankind in the laws and constitution of natuire, as
framed by him in the beginning aInd set in motion,
to go on afterwards of itself,- I can easily see that
this view of Providence cannot and ought not to
satisfy the longings of the soul. If this were all,
man would feel himself to be standing amidst the
play of a vast and complicated machinery, which
is working out his destiny and that of all other
beings, -it knows not, and it cares not, how or
why. Should he pray, it must be on the ground
that hlie himself and his prayers make a part of the
mAhinery just mentioned, which was foreseen and
provided for when the whole was first put together.
But with what heart, with what truth or naturalness of feeling, could he utter his supplications, if
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PRO  VIDENCE.
he believed that the prayer he is making now was
granted or denied six thousand years ago?
Not satisfied with this, the religiously disposed
have turned instinctively to a particular providence.
But here again we meet with difficulty.  If by a
particular providence is meanlt a special interposi tion of the Deity; if it is meant that God occasion ally breaks into the course of nature, and acts
directly and immediately, when otherwise he would
not act at all,- it supposes a violent change in the
mode of the divine agency in favor of the in dividual, which those who most deserve it would
have too much humility to expect; or, if they did,
I am afraid its effect on their humility and on their
whole character would be any thing but good.
There is much force in a remark of Dr. Brown:
"There  are many minds, perhaps  the greatest
number, in which the constant habit of ascribing
every little beneficial event to some interposition of
the Divine Power in their particular favor, tends to
cherish a sort of isolating selfishness, which, in its
own peculiar relation to events that are supposed
to be out of the common course of things, almost
loses the comprehensive and far more important
relation of Nature to the whole human race." I 
To the doctrine of a Providence at once immediate and universal, none of these objections
1 Inquiry into the Relation of Cause and Effect, p. 538.
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PR 0 VIDENCE.
apply. As it is absolutely universal, its tendency
cannot be, like that of a belief in special interpositions, to nourish an egotistic or clannish spirit,
under the impression that God is our God in a
way in which he is not the God of all mankind.
At the same time, as it is immediate, it entirely
meets and satisfies that want of the soul out of
which, as we have seen, the doctrine of a particulLar
and special providence arose. It opens the way by
which every individual soul can be brought into
instant and immediate communion with the Living
God. We no longer feel ourselves to be standing amidst the play of a vast and complicated
machinery which is doing it knows not what:
every motion, every breath around us proclaims
the instant presence and instant action of the
Divinity. You kneel beside the pallid and wasted
form of one whose malady baffles all human skill,
and pray that his life may yet be spared. You
feel, you know, that you are not speaking into the
air: you feel, you know, that the event is still in
the hands of one who is acting now, who acts consciously and freely, who hears every word you say.
That any remedy has any effect whatever is wholly
oAing to the conscious and instant agency of God;
and what that effect shall be in any particular instance will depend on the law which his unerring
Wisdom prescribes at the time to his Omnipotent
Will.
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PROVIDENCE.
There is also another aspect under which this
doctrine recommends itself, at least to Christians;
it scatters to the winds the common philosophical
objections to the credibility of miracles. A mira cle has been variously defined by Christian writers.
Sometimes it has been made to be "a violation of
the laws of nature;" sometimes, "all extraordi nary effect of an extraordinary cause," God acting
imnRmediately in this case, and in this case only, as
" one of the powers of nature."  But some minds
find a difficulty in believing that there is, or can
be, any thing like violation or interposition in the
laws of nature, or the providence of God. Under stand, then, that all events, common as well as
miraculous, are caused by the constant and im mediate agency of Divine Power: in this respect
there is no difference; one is no more of the nature
of an interposition than the other. Understand,
likewise, that what we call "the laws of nature"
are nothing but the uniformity of the divine
action; and again, that God observes this uni formity as a general rule, not on account of any
thing in the uniformity itself, but simply and solely
because he sees, in each particular instance, that it
.is best for his creatures.  The  law of his own
nature, the law of infinite wisdom and goodness,
moves him to do, in each particular instance, what
he sees to be best for his creatures: this is the only
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PROVIDENCE.
law which has any thing to do with the divine
conduct. Suppose now an exigency to arise (as
in the case of the first promulgation of the gospel),
when it is manifestly best for his creatures that he
should deviate from his customary uniformity of
action, -do you not perceive that in this case all
the reasons and all the law which move him at
other times to observe this uniformity, must move
him now to depart from it? The miracle, therefore, is not a violation of the only law on which
the uniformity of nature depends, but necessary to
its fulfilment.
To the Christian, therefore, I repeat it, this view
of nature and providence urust recommend itself,
because it takes from the miraculous evidence, on
which in part at least his faith must rest, the
anomalous character it has sometimes been made
to wear. A real miracle is not of the nature of
an interposition, neither is it a violation of
the law of the Divine Nature.  All events are
what they are, through the constant and instant
action of the Divinity; and, if in any case they
deviate from the customary uniformity of nature,
it is only because it is necessary to the immutability
of.Cod; for this immutability, as every one must
perceive, does not consist in his acting in the same
way under an essential change of circumstances,
but in his acting in all circumstances from the same
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PRO VIDENCE.
eternal principle of love. It must, also, recommend itself to Christians as being what the Saviour
and his apostles taught. The doctrine of Providenice, which I have been endeavoring though feebly and inadequately to set forth, is pre-eminently
the Christian doctrine. "Are not two sparrows
sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall
on the ground without your Father. But the vely
hairs of your head are all numbered."   " Of Him,
and through Him, and to Him are all things."
"In Him we live, and move, and have our being."
Thus far I have spoken of the providence which
God exercises over the material world, over nature, and over man only in so far as he is related to
nature and influenced by it. But it would hardly
do to pass from this subject without saying a few
words on what is at once the most interesting and
the most difficult part: I mean the providence
which God exercises over the spiritual world, over
minds.
Here there is a marked difference growing out of
the essential distinction between matter and spirit.
The distinguishing characteristic of matter is inertia: it moves only as it is moved; it acts only as
it is acted on. The distinguishing characteristic of
spirit is self-activity: it moves itself; it is a free
cause. Herein, perhaps, more than in any thing
else, man resembles his Creator; he is, in short, a
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PROVIDENCE.
kind of limited and dependent creator: he creates
his own volitions; he can begin a new series of
events. God has seen fit to invest him with a
freedom which he himself respects: hence man's
responsibility, glory, peril.   The planets are not
free to move in their orbits, or not; the flowers of
the field are not free to expand their leaves and
diffuse their fragrance, or not; even the animals
are not free to follow  out, or not, those mysterious instincts which have been wrought into their
organization, as a kind of vision or dream. But
man - the soul - is free; free to do or not to do;
to obey or disobey, to yield to or resist even
divine influences and suggestions.
Here, as I have said, is a remarkable peculiarity;
how is it provided for? As Dr. Price observes:
"It would be denying the doctrine of Providence
entirely, and making the universe in a manner forlorn and fatherless, to suppose that all that the
Deity does, is to endow beings with powers and affections, and then to turn them out into a wide theatre, there to scuffle as they can, and do what they
please, without taking any care of them, or presiding over their affairs.   We cannot be more sure
of Me moral perfections of the Deity, than we are
that this is false." 1 But man's condition in this
world would not be very different from that which
1 Four Dissertations, p. 98.
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PROVIDENCE.
is here described, if God's providence extends no
further than to his outward circumstances, leaving
him to be affected by them as he may. Indeed, on
the most general grounds, I cannot divest myself
of the conviction, that the Infinite Spirit must act
in and through his spiritual creation, by virtue of
an intimacy far more profound than any which does
or can exist between him and unconscious nature.
Then, too, the inward experiences of every man
that lives, -the sense of dependence, the instinct
of prayer, the effort to raise himself above him self, the aspiration after the perfect and the infi nite, - what are these but so many intimations
that we were made to be sustained and filled by a
strength and a light which are not our own? That
this doctrine springs up naturally in a pious and
thoughtful mind, even without the aid of revela tion, appears from the following statement of it,
as given by one of the most spiritually minded of
the ancient sages: "Let your soul receive the
Deity as your blood does the air; for the influ ences of the one are no less vital than the other.
This correspondence is practicable; for there is an
ambient, omnipresent Spirit, which lies as open
and pervious to your mind as the air you breathe
does to your lungs.  But then you must remember
to be disposed to draw it."
Provision is here made as well for the freedom
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PROVIDENCE.
as for the frailty of man. God does not break into
the soul against its will, or without its consent: the
most that he does is, in the expressive language of
Scripture, to "stand at the door and knock."  Man
can open his soul by holy exercises, by humility,
by prayer, by love; or he can keep it shut. God
is everywhere present and everywhere active in
nature; we cannot help being surrounded at all
times by the universally diffused light and energy.
Not only good men, but bad men, the worst of
men, are immersed, if I may so express it, in the
Divine Presence: still the rebel spirit can keep
himself utterly false and dark. The reason is, that
this Presence finds entrance into the soul only in
so far as the soul is brought into harmony with it,
or humbles itself before it.
This I suppose to be the philosophical basis of
the Christian doctrine of Divine Influences. Of
course it is not pretended that there is any thing
supernatural or miraculous in the ordinary influences of the Spirit. They result from the constitution of things as determined by the Creator; and,
so far as we are concerned, they appear to result
from that constitution according to general and
fixed laws.  They are not arbitrarily bestowed;
they are not offered to one, and not to another, on
any principle of partiality or selection. They are
offered to all,- absolutely to all; and they can be,
0
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PROVIDENCE.
and are, made available by all of every kindred
and tongue, of every faith and worship, just in pro portion as by holy exercises, by love, by self-sur render, by humility and prayer, they put themselves
into a condition to receive the needed Presence.
Still, there would seem to be no good reason why
an attempt should be made, from fear of extrava gance and fanaticism, to confound the ordinary in fluences of the Spirit with the operations of our
own minds. We cannot be reminded too often that
under paganism, and also under Christianity, the
most debasing and revolting forms of extravagance
and fanaticism have prevailed among the ignorant,
precisely at those times when a cold, sceptical, and
rationalizing spirit found most favor among the
better informed. This Divine Presence, this spir itual and heavenly succor, is shed abroad in our
hearts as an influx of light and peace and joy,- a
confidence, an energy, an impulse; and hence it
is not to be regarded as mental action of our own,
but rather as the foundation of a better and higher
mental action of our own. Even Cicero could say,
"there never was a truly great man without di vine inspiration." In one word, what we mean is
simply this: as a man may be filled with the spirit
of selfishness, and in this case will act from selfish
influences; or, with the spirit of the world, and in
this case will act from worldly influences,- so may
0
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PROVIDENCE.
he also, in the same proportion as he makes himself like God, or humbles himself unreservedly
before him, be filled with the Spirit of God; and
in this case he will act from Divine influences.
I meant to say something of the place which
prayer holds in this view of the providence which
God exercises over the spiritual world; but I forbear. When we undertake to reason about what
does not belong to the reasoning faculties, but to the
affections, we soon find ourselves involved in inextricable difficulties. It is not that the thing itself
is not reasonable: we feel that it is reasonable;
but we feel, at the same time, that it is not a matter of reasoning. And the difficulty is complicated
still further, when what we have to consider not
only belongs to the affections, but is a spontaneous
tribute of those affections. The moral and religious affections are in themselves essentially disinterested; and of course what they do and say is
essentially untranslatable into the language of selfishness. Thus it is, as a general rule, that the
heart alone can understand itself, and the reasonableness and the profit of its own offerings.  To be
able therefore to answer the question, What profit
is tere in prayer? we must enter into its spirit;
and, as soon as we do enter into its spirit, we shall
cease to take much interest in the question.
Time also fails me to speak as I should of the
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PROVIDENCE.
spiritual discernment, and earnest and living faith,
imparted to those in whom the Spirit of God dwells.
A foreign writer has said of that great light which
has lately gone down among us: "All true light he
regarded as proceeding from the higher sentiments
of the soul, receiving and manifesting God's spirit.
To keep his own nature pure, reverential, loving,
unstained by the passions, unsullied by appetite
and sense, so that God might find it ready for his
impulses, and be ab)le to breathe his Holy Spirit
through it, -this he regarded as the highest and
surest preparation for the reception of Spiritual
Truth. And the sense proceeding to him from such
states, of the goodness of God, of the destination
and true happiness of mnan, of an all-embracing
love as the only principle of a beneficent connec tion with one another, or with the universe; of the
blessedness of obeying conscience; of the sure tri umph and eternal vindication of Righteousness and
Mercy, - was not to him a mere human or fallible
impression, but the solemn affirmation of Almighty
God." 1
If what I have now said is true, God is really
present and active throughout nature and in all
egood men, in a sense and to a degree much beyond
what the common opinion, or the common speech,
seems to recognize. The promise of philosophy has
1 Christian Teacher, vol. v. p. 106. Jan. 1843;
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PROVIDENCE.
always been to give us back the simplicity of wisdom as a substitute for the simplicity of ignorance,
which it has taken away; to give us back simplicity
of life, simplicity of manners, simplicity of faith.
May we not hope that it will make this promise
good? The child listens to the thunder as the voice
of God; the savage listens to the sighings of the
wind through the primeval forests as the breathing
of the Great Spirit. Both are right, according to
their apprehension of things. Philosophy, a devout and Christian philosophy, would only extend
this solemn and awful recognition of the Divine
Presence, and "see God in every thing, and every
thing in God."
1843-1856.
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SPIRITUAL DEATH.
V.
SPIRITUAL DEATH.
"1 know thy works, that thou hast a name that thou livest, and art
dead." -REVELATION iii. 1.
INNERS,  in whom  the better principles of
human nature are entirely overpowered by
evil habit, are said in Scripture and elsewhere to
be spiritually dead. I purpose to speak, iii this
discourse, of the nature, the causes, and the
remedy of spiritual death.
In speaking of this state, let us take care, in the
first place, never to mistake for spiritual death
what is not that, though it may resemble it in some
respects. There are those, everybody knows, who
are constitutionally cold  and  phlegmatic, -  cold
and phlegmatic in every thing, - who are never
excited, who are never warm. Look at them in
* all their relations; follow them into all their occupations. They are not ardent in their friendships
or their enmities, or in the pursuit of knowledge,
or of gain, or of pleasure. Now it would be pre
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SPIRITUAL DEATH.
posterous to expect such persons to be otherwise
than phlegmatic in religion, when compared with
Christians of a more sanguine temperament. And
yet, they are not spiritually dead. They are as
much alive to religion as they are to any thling.
Besides, there is nothing in their constitutional
coldness and phlegm to hinder them from acting
habitually on religious principles; or from being
swayed on the whole by a religious spirit: which
is all that is absolutely indispensable to a religious
life. It is true, they are not likely to have enough
of earnestness and devotion, to counteract strong
antagonist feelings; but then, it is also true of
the persons now under consideration, that by the
very constitution of their nature they do not have
strong antagonist feelings to be counteracted.
They may be said, therefore, to require - they can
get along with -less intensity of religious feeling
than other people, because in them the passions,
propensities which are apt to come into conflict
with religious feelings, are also proportionably less
intense.  And what say the Scriptures?  "Thou
shalt love the Lord thy God, with all thy heart,
with all thy soul, and with all thy mind, and with
altlthy strength."   Here you will observe, that
the abstract amount of affection required is not
stated; one fixed and absolute standard is not set
up for all persons; it is not said, with precisely
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SPIRITUAL DEATH.
how much heart, soul, mind, and strength we
must love the Lord our God: it is enough if we
love him, each one with all the heart, and soul,
and mind, and strength that he has.
Again, we must not mistake for spiritual death
that outward reserve on reliyious subjects, which
sometimes springs from the very intensity of the
feelings, or at least from an extreme and morbid
delicacy of the feelings. Our Lord says, it is true,
"Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth
speaketh. A good man, out of the good treasure
of his heart, brinlgeth forth good things; and an
evil man, out of the evil treasure, bringeth forth
evil things." That is, a man's conversation, if he
says any thing, will be likely to be pure or impure,
according to the predominant bias of his affections
and inclinations. But it is by no means asserted
or implied here, and it is by no means in accord ance with experience and observation, that those
men are always the most talkative whose hearts are
the fullest. The direct contrary to this would be
nearer the truth. As a general rule, people every where hesitate to say much, or to speak freely,
about their deepest and most delicate feelings:
.*partly from a difficulty to find words adequate to
express them; partly from a fear that they will
not meet with a hearty sympathy in other minds;
and partly from an almost invincible repugnance
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SPIRITUAL DEATH.
to lay bare to vulgar gaze the mysteries of the
inner man.   Occasionally  you  may meet with
those who are fond of talking about their religious
experiences; and it is not for me, or for you, to
judge, or even to call in question, their sincerity,
or the reality of their experiences. But this we
think we may say: with sensible people, the indications of suppressed feeling weigh more, a
thousand times more, as evidence of real and deep
emotion, than having the same feeling uttered and
exaggerated.
But surely I need  not labor this point.   As
some men are constitutionally cold and phlegmatic, so others, who are far from being cold and
phlegmatic, are yet constitutionally reserved and
uncommunicative, -reserved and  uncommunicative in matters of business, as well as in the things
of the Spirit. Now I do not say that this habitual
reserve, this indisposition to free communion of
thought and feeling on religious subjects, cannot
be carried too far. I do not say that it never
amounts to a fault. On the contrary, I believe
that it is often a very great fault, and that Chlristianity has suffered as much from this fault in
its'enlighltened friends, as from almost any other.
Still I maintain, and after what has been said I
hope it is sufficiently obvious, that outward reserve
as regards religion is not in itself, and does not of
itself, necessarily argue or imply spiritual death.
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SPIRITUAL DEATH.
What, then, is spiritual death? It consists in
the absence of that sensibility of soul by which
men are made capable of feeling and appreciating
spiritual things. Sometimes this arises from the
fact that the spiritual element in our nature has
never been excited and developed; the man has
never  been  spiritually born.   But  it is more
frequently owing to a torpor or palsy which, from
some cause, comes over the spiritual faculties after
their partial development, to such a degree as, in
some instances, entirely to destroy and suspend
their vital and legitimate functions. He still is
alive to other things, - alive, and perhaps intensely alive, to the pleasures of sense, to the pursl,its of gain, to a love of power and fame; to
every thing, in short, which does not involve the
presence and activity of the moral and spiritual
faculties: but so far as these are concerned he is
dead. When we say that a man is spiritually
dead, we do not mean that his body is dead; nay,
we do not mean that his mind is dead, so far as it
is capable of beiiing occupied exclusively on things of
time, and sense, and self. He may even be eminent as a mathematician, or naturalist, or statesman;  and yet as regards all those feelings and
exercises which involve the consciousness and the
agency of his higher nature, and his relations to
the spiritual world, he may be as dead as the
drunken vagabond about the streets.
92
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SPIRITUAL DEATH.
This, then, is what we understand bv spiritual
death. Not a general and constitutional coldness
in regard to all things, but a particular deadness
and insensibility to every thing which is addressed
to our spiritual nature; not a mere outward reserve, but a torpor and palsy of the spiritual
faculties.
The Scriptures sometimes represent this under
the figure of a " second death;" for as there is a
second birth, indicating that the body is born at
one time and the spirit at another, so also is there
a second death, indicating in like manner that the
body may die at one time and the spirit at another.
But there is this difference: though the spirit is
never born first, it may die first, so far at least as
it is susceptible of death. So far, I say, so far
as it is susceptible of death; for we must not urge
the language of Scripture, or this analogy between
the death of the body and the death of the spirit,
too far. The death of the body is an utter and
final dissolution of the body; but the death of the
spirit is nothing more, strictly speaking, than the
inaction and temporary suspension of faculties
which are in their own nature indestructible. Nay,
it.-does not follow, because the soul is dead to
every thing which constitutes its proper life, that it
is dead to the want and misery occasioned by what
may justly be termed a living death. However
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SPIRITUAL DEATH.
this may be, it is certain that the soul, so far as it
can die, may die before the body; that causes may
now be in operation to destroy the proper life of
the soul, and that the individual himself may
voluntarily contribute to this effect, to his own
spiritual self-destruction. It is, indeed, an appall ing thought, that, where there is one suicide of the
body, there are probably twenty, may I not say a
hundred, suicides of the soul.
Let us now advert briefly to some of the causes
conspiring to induce that indifference and insensi bility to spiritual things, which constitutes, as we
have seen, spiritual death. 
And first, I would say, that less is to be feared, in
this connection, from erroneous than from lifeless
training. A writer, of whom our country and the
age may justly boast, has said: "I do not think
that so much harm is done by giving error to a
child, as )by giving truth in a lifeless form.  What
is the misery of the multitudes in Christian
countries? Not that they disbelieve Christianity,
or that they hold great errors, but that truth lies
dead within them. They use the most sacred
words without meaning. They hear of spiritual
.~realities, awful enough to raise the dead, with
utter unconcern; and one reason of this insensi bility is, that teaching in early life was so mechani cal, that religion was lodged in the memory and
0
94
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SPIRITUAL DEATH.
the unthinking belief, whilst the reason was not
awakened, nor the conscience nor the heart moved.
According to the common modes of instruction, the
minds of the young become worn to great truths.
By reading the Scriptures without thought or feeling, their minds are dulled to thleir most touching
and sublime passages; and, when once a passage
lies dead in the mind, its resurrection to life and
power is a most difficult work." 1
A kindred thought was presented long ago, by
Dr. Priestley, in a sermon on" The Danger of Bad
Habits," - cold and philosophical throughout in
manner, yet one of the most solemn appeals ever
made to the conscience; the object being to prove
that to many the day of judgment may be said
to come  before the day of their death.   "A
person," he observes, "who has studied, or who
fancies he has studied, any particular subject,
sooner or later makes?tp his mind, as we say,
with respect to it; and, after this, all arguments
intended to convince him of his mistake, only
serve to confirm him in his chosen way of thinking. An argument or evidence of any kind, that
is entirely new to a man, may make a proper imprOsion upon him; but if it has often been proposed to him, and he has had time to view and
1 Dr. Channing's "Discourse on Sunday Schools," Christian
Examiner, vol. xxii. pp. 74, 75o.
0
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SPIRITUAL DEA TH.
consider it, so as to have hit upon'any method of
evading the power of it, he is afterwards quite
callous to it, and can very seldom be prevailed
upon to give it any proper attention. This con  sideration accounts, in some measure, both for the
great influence of Christianity on its first publica  tion, when the doctrines were new and striking,
and also for the absolute indifference with which
the same great truths are now heard in all Chris  tian countries." 1
It is high time that all, and that intelligent
Christians especially, should wake up to the im  portance of these stuggestions.  We  are for ever
extolling the power of truth, the value of sound
and just views, and a rational and consistent
faith; and all this is well, provided  the w-lole
be instinct with a living spirit.   But of what
avail will be the truth itself, if held, I do not
say "in unrighteousness," but in indifference and
apathy? We have, I know, the warrant of Script ure for believing that it is the truth by which men
are to be sanctified and made free; but who has
yet to learn that the truth which is to do this, is
not truth contemplated as an abstraction, truth
* set forth in propositions, truth locked up in
creeds?  It is living truth.  It is truth in action,
I Discourses on Various Subjects. Birmingham, 1787, pp. 374,
375.
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SPIRITUAL DEATH.
truth considered as wrought into the very life, the
truth which we live from day to day.  But that this
sort of truth may be dispensed, it is necessary that
both preacher and hearer should reproduce it, each
one in his own mind and heart.  It is not enough
that we receive it passively as a tradition, or adopt
it passively on authority; we must make it matter
of inward experience, of spiritual consciousness,
and thus reproduce it, as it were, in our own minds
and hearts. And in this way, let me observe in
passing, the oldest truths may again become as
fresh and new to us, individually and personally,
as when they first fell from the lips of the Great
Teacher.
Give us the living truth; but, if we cannot have
that, give us, in God's name, living error.  As
liberal Christians we are, beyond question, overcritical and fastidious in this matter. It may not
be so with other  denominations, but our  chief
danger grows out of an under current that is
continually setting towards a dead rationalism.
Give us, I repeat it, living error, rather than dead
truth; for the same maxim holds good in regard
to our higher as well as our lower nature: "so
long as there is life, there is hope." Besides, do
we not know that a ship under sail, though a little
off from-its course, can get into it again in half the
timne it will take another vessel at anchor under a
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SPIRITUAL DEATH.
headland, or waterlogged in a calm, to get under
way?
Again, so far as religious indifference and insensibility are concerned, there is less to fear, as
it seems to me, from the influence of an avowed
and active scepticism than from the influence of
a scepticism which is unacknowledged and merely
passive. Well and truly was it said by Archbishop Leighton: "- Where there is a great deal of
smoke, and no clear flame, it argues much moisture
in the matter, yet it witnesseth certainly that there
is fire there; and therefore dubious questioning is
a much better evidence than that senseless deadness which most take for believing.  Men  that
know nothing in sciences have no doubts.  He
never truly believes who was not made first sensible, and convinced of his unbelief.   Never  be
afraid to doubt, if only you have the disposition
to believe, and doubt in order that you may end
in believing the truth."l   If we must have an
active or a passive scepticism, give us the first.
An active scepticism will often cure itself, work
itself clear of its difficulties; but there is no hope
whatever for a man who will neither believe nor
inquire.  An active scepticism, moreover, does not
imply an indifference to truth, nor prevent men
from discriminating; so that, while it leads them
1 Coleridge's "Aids," p. 64.
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SPIRITUAL DEATH.
to deny this thing and doubt that, it leaves their
confidence in other things unimpaired, and perhaps strengthened and quickened. But it is of
the nature of a latent and passive scepticism, by
confounding the true with the false, and the certain with the doubtful, to spread itself gradually
over the whole subject, involving natural as well
as revealed religion in the same doubt, and causing them to be regarded with a like indifference.
Under the influence of this spirit, the best that
men can be expected to do is to settle down at
last into the conceited and supercilious conclusion,
that Christianity, whether true or not, is a good
thing for society, and especially for the lower
classes, and must not be disturbed.'
Yes, I earnestly contend that any thing is better
than that senseless deadness here referred to, which
sometimes passes for believing. Accordingly I do
not participate, to any considerable degree, in the
regret or alarm expressed by some at the tendency
of modern scepticism to come forth into the light
of day, and to put on a form of light and activity
corresponding to the magnitude of the principles
at stake. It is no evidence that scepticism and
iufidelity are on the increase: both have always
existed to an extent far beyond what is generally
supposed; but it is the consequence of that spirit
1 Christian Examiner, vol. xi. p. 191.
.'"' -
e          *I  
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SPIRITUAL DEATH.
which is abroad, leading men to sift all subjects
to the bottom, and religion among the rest, with
a determination to find whether it is founded in
reality or not. And I, for one, welcome the
change.  Indeed, when  I see deists, like Lord
Herbert, praying on their bended knees that God
would give them a sign from heaven to end their
doubts; when I see atheists shedding bitter tears
over the conscious desolation which want of faith
has  brought  on  their whole  inward  being,
though the iron has entered into their souls, I feel
that still, while there is pain, there is life; and,
while there is life, there is hope. Nay, I am
almost temnpted, under such circumstances, to
pronounce a living scepticism better than a dead
faith, as doing more to agitate and wake up a
man's moral nature, to make  him  alive to the
deep wants of his soul, and thus to put him into
a condition to be affected and impressed by exhibitions of divine truth, from whatever quarter
they may come. And I am much mistaken if it
does not appear in the end, that the design, the
final cause, in the providence of God, of the recent
development of what are called the sceptical tendencies of the age, is to purify, by means of a reaction, the dull, close,'and suffocating atmosphere in
which, to so great an extent, the selfishness and the
worldliness, and the low and earthly utilitarian
-.-.-. ~ 
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SPIRITUAL DEATIZ.
ism of the times, have wrapped so large a portion
of the Church. If there is no other way of re-.
generating nominal Christianity, -if there is no
other way of raising men out of this state of
passive, latent, unacknlmowledged scepticism, which
is doing so much, gradually and insidiously, to
waste away the heart and moral life of humanity,
but by passing through a process of active scepticism, - I, for one, welcome the ordeal. And, under
the sway of a God of omnipotence and truth, I
have no more fear that religion itself is to go
down, than I have that civilization is again to be
engulphed in barbarism, or that the wild beasts
of the desert will rise on mankind, and depopulate
the earth.
Once more, I need say but a word in illustration
of what you all know, that sin, under any and all
its thousand forms, leads to spiritual death. But
it may be of more importance to observe here, that
less perhaps is to be apprehended, so far as indif ference and utter insensibility are concerned, from
open, flagrant, and passionate crime, than from
that worldliness and self-seeking which finds but
little difficulty in disguising itself under a decent
exterior, and keeping on good terms with itself
and with society. Fanatics, as you are aware,
have sometimes said that thieves and drunkards
are nearer the Kingdom of Heaven than merely
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SPIRITUAL DEATH.
moral men; and there is just enough of truth in
this statement to give currency in some circles to
the radical and pestilent error it conveys. It is
true, beyond all doubt, that the man who has
killed within himself the principle of virtue, with out having cast off its most indispensable outward
forms, or adopted those of gross vice, is less likely
to be startled in his downward course, is less likely
to awake to the imminent peril of his situation,
than one whose every-day scenes and every-day
actions are of a nature to bring up before him
visions of hell.
Moreover, it is not enough considered that mere
levity and firivolity may superinduce an impenetra ble callousness upon the human heart; and in time,
through the power of habit, may render it abso lutely unimpressible by the weightiest and most
interesting objects in the universe.  And  what
shall I say of sensuality?  "She that liveth in
pleasure is dead while she liveth." Self-surrender
to the animal passionls, - it is the grave of every
thing that is pure, and noble, and good; convert ing mail, by a sort of living metempsychosis, into
the beast in whose tastes and propensities he
grovels.  Neither does the  curse stop with the
torpor and palsy of the soul, but pursues hiiu at
last,   under the form of a sated appetite and a
withered heart, even into all his forbidden indul
0
102
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SPIRITUAL DEATH.
gences.  Who has yet to learn that there are none
who in effect extract so little happiness from
pleasure as those who look to it as their sole or
their highest gratification? Excess blunts every
faculty and every sense until the man of pleasure
becomes as dead to animal as to spiritual enjoyment; as dead to pleasure and the world as he is
to religion and to God.
But it is time to conclude.  You will remember
that spiritual death is not absolute death. It is
but the inaction or suspension of faculties which
are in their own nature indestructible. Under the
government and providence of our Heavenly
Father, and with the powerful aids and appliances of a spiritual faith and worship, despair is
unpardonable sin, - despair either for ourselves
or for others. It is only necessary that we should
be apprized of our danger, and avail ourselves of
the means of resuscitating or waking up our moral
and spiritual nature. Evoke its latent energies,
and put them forth in deeds of philanthropy and
mercy; commune with your own soul, and stand
in awe of its mysterious revelations of the unseen
and the infinite; study the lives and cultivate the
socdbty of those whose faith and piety at once
excite and attract all who come within the sphere of
their influence; resort as you may be able, and as
you feel yourselves prepared, to earnest, heartfelt
0
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SPIRITUAL DEATH.
prayer, in which man is said, by a most expressive
figure, to wrestle with God.  Above all, have faith
in him, at whose powerful word the grave gave
up its dead; have faith in him that he can also
work the kindred miracle of raising your soul from
the death of sin to the life of righteousness.
Wherefore it is said, - and their line is gone out
through all the earth, and their words to the end
of the world,   " Awake, thou that sleepest, and
arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee
life!"
1837-1858.
0
104
. 
STRENGTHEVNING AN INFIRM FAITH. 105
VI.
MEANS OF STRENGTHENING AN INFIRM FAITH.
"And straightway the father of the child cried out, and said with tears,
Lord, 1 believe: help thou mine unbelief! "- MARK ix. 24.
HE state of mind which the Evangelist ascribes
to the father of the lunatic child is not uncommon.   It is the condition of one who  has
faith; but yet is conscious at times of doubts by
which his faith is weakened and disturbed.
Such being the condition of many minds, perhaps of most thinking minds, it may be well to inquire how this temptation or tendency to doubt
may  be prevented.  In other words, What  are
some of the best means of strengthening an unsettled or infirm faith?
First of all, we should eradicate from our minds
wltt may be called the conceit of scepticism.
I do not suppose that all the scepticism in the
world originates in one cause, or in causes all of
which imply guilt. Something, doubtless, depends
on organization; something also on education,
5*
0 
106    MEANS OF STRENGTHENING
society, public opinion, and other extraneous in fluences for which the individual is, at most, but
in part responsible. Still I cannot help suspecting
that a principal consideration which reconciles many
to being sceptical is the tlloight, that it argues
more than usual strength or activity of mind; that
it is because they can see through what others can iiot, and so are made less easy to be convinced.
Whatever may be said of their doubts in a moral
and religious point of view, they are fain to look
upon them as the sign, perhaps as the penalty, of
intellectual superiority.
But is this conceit well founded? I allow that
doubting is commonly the result of thinking; but
not of successful thinking: it is the result of baf fled thinking; and is baffled thinking a sign of
intellectual power? Again, the objections to a
doctrine are generally obvious, palpable, on the
outside, -anybody can understand them;  while
the answers, for the most part, lie deeper, and so
require more information, or greater reach of mind,
in order to be appreciated, in order that their full
force may be felt. For this reason, in a community where it is the fashion for all to think for
themselves, no small portion of the actual scepticism, secret or avowed, may be referred to the
single circumstance, that multitudes have enough
of intelligence to understand the objection, but not
0 
AN INFIRM FAITH.
enough to understand  the  answer.   Certainly,
therefore, it is not true of all scepticism, that it
supposes mental superiority.
Furthermore, a propensity to scepticism does
not betoken the best style or cast of mind. Minds
may be divided into two classes: some are constructive, others destructive; some apt to discover
analogies and harmonies, others quick to detect
defects or discrepancies; some always trying to
build up, others always trying to pull down. Now
I suppose that most persons will go along with me
when I say, that the first mentioned sort of mind
is on every account to be preferred; yet the sceptically disposed belong to the last. I might illustrate and  confirm  what I mean from  history.
Compare Socrates with the sophists of his day;
compare Bacon with Bayle; compare Locke with
Hume; compare Newton with Laplace. I have
no wish to detract aught from the acknowledged
eminence of the last named in these several comparisons, as regards what fell in with the peculiar
bent of their genius. If acuteness and subtilty of
intellect, if a power to analyze and dissect, to criticise and find fault and pull to pieces, were all that is
reklired, some of the great sceptics might be set
down, I suppose, as second to none. Unquestionably these men stand among the highest in the
order to which they belong, but the order itself is
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MEANS OF STRENGTHENVING
not the highest. The habit of attending to minute
distinctions and mere details unfits them more and
more for making up a confident opinion respecting
any large and complicated subject. They belong
to a class of ingenious peronls, who are for ever
liable to be  ensnared  by their own  ingen uity.
They are so ready with their difficulties and objec tions as to be more than a match even for them selves; and hence their scepticism.
Again, therefore, I say, let no one hug his
scepticism, or entertain it with complacency, from
a conceit that it is the price he has to pay for
his intellectual superiority.   So far is this firom
being the case, that in a large majority of instances
scepticism is the sign of nothing but a limited and
baffled understanding; and, even when it must be
admitted to pertain to extraordinary powers, they
are still, for the most part, the powers of a subtle
and captious mind, but not those of a large, generous, comprehensive, and effective mind. Exceptions there may be; but the general rule is as I
have said. A man is not great because he can see
difficulties, but because he can see through difficulties; or, because he believes in what makes
difficulties of no account, so that he can go on as
if they did not exist. Accordingly we find that
those who have been looked up to in all ages as
lights and guides, - the great discoverers and in
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ventors, the great legislators, the great reformers,
the great benefactors of the race, - have not been
men of doubt, but men of faith.
Having thus discarded every vestige of the conceit of scepticism, the next rule to be observed by
those who would cure themselves. of a tendency to
unsettled opinions, in morals and religion, is to
abstain from dwelling unduly on the difficult and
perplexing aspects of the subject.
Every subject has its difficult and perplexing
aspects. Take the simplest fact in Nature; consider it in all its connections and relations, and it
will be found to run out into questions which all
the triumphs of modern science leave as much in
the dark as ever.   Now  where  will you stop?
Most persons, however sceptically inclined, would
be willing to say, I suppose, that they should be
content if they had as good evidence for the existence of the soul, as they have for that of the
body; or as good evidence for the existence of
the spiritual world, as they have for that of the
material world. Yet, even in respect to the body
and the material world, doubts and difficulties have
been raised wlhich have made the strongest minds
Oaver; nay, books have been written, in all seriousness and good faith, to demonstrate not only their
non-existence, but their impossibility. And so in
morals. Few things, I suppose, are clearer to the
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MEANVS OF STRENGTHENING
great bulk of mankind, or more universally re  cognized, than the great primary distinctions of
right and wrong. Here again, however, uneasy
and distrustful minds may push their questionings
into that perplexing field of inquiry which has to
do with hereditary biases, differences of organiza tion, and the power of circumstances, or with the
insolvable mystery of the Divine prescience and
human free agency, until what before was as clear
as noon-day becomes hopelessly obscured and con fused; until they are ready to doubt whether there
is any such thing as proper responsibility, whether
conscience, after all, is not an empty name, or at
best an unauthorized prejudice, -a mere figment
of the brain.  Thus, by dwelling exclusively on the
difficult side of things, a man may lose all con fidence even in what the world, whether infidel or
not on the subject of religion, have agreed to set
down among the best established conclusions of
sense and reason. How it is that such a result
should follow firom such a course is easy of ex planation.  By dwelling on the difficult and per plexing aspects of any subject, the mind is coi1 tinually exposed to a twofold cause of mistake.
?In the first place, the points of objection and dif ference may be very few, compared with the points
of general consent; still, if we give a great deal
more attention and thought to the former than to
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AN INFIRM FAITH.
the latter, we shall be tempted to believe that the
proportion  is reversed.  Besides,  the  practical
effect of objections to any doctrine depends much
less on their number or weight than on the place
we give them in our thoughts; on the amount
of attention we pay to them.  If, in other words,
we think of them and nothing else, then it is
plain that we shall know nothing about the subject but its difficulties and objections, and we shall
be doubters as a matter of course. The law is,
that our minds are affected by what is present to
them, and not by what is absent from them,
whether it exists or not. This law manifests itself
in many things which have nothing to do with
morals or religion. For example: we almost
always over estimate the merits of our friends, and
under estimate the merits of our enemies.  Why?
The reason is, that in thinking of our friends we
are apt to think only of their virtues, while in
thinking of our enemies we are apt to think only
of their defects and faults. Here, too, we find the
origin of much that goes under the name of party
rancor, with'all its meannesses and injustice, and
particularly its disposition to impeach the motives
or 4uestion the sincerity of opponents. Wonder
is often expressed that really good men, in proportion as they become zealous partisans, are so ready
to lend themselves to these abuses; but it is only
ill
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MEANS OF STRENGTHENING
another application of the above-mentioned law.
When they think of their own party, they are apt
to think of its good side only, but when they think
of the party opposed to them, they are apt to think
of its bad side only; and, doing so, the effect of this
on their own minds is just the same as if their party
really had no bad side, and the other no good side.
So likewise in respect to Christianity.  If we
never recur to it except to dwell on its difficulties
and perplexities, and on the dark side of its
history, it is plain that the effect on our minds will
be the same as if these constituted the whole of
Christianity. Christianity has a multitude of other
aspects  which  recommend  it immediately  and
irresistibly to the reason and the heart; but these
are nothing to one who will not think on them, or,
which is the same in effect, allows his mind to be
wholly taken up with the difficult and perplexing
aspects of the subject.
What makes it worse in the case of Christianity
is, that, when persons fall into doubt respecting it,
thley naturally turn to books on the evidences, and
the burden of these books is still the difficulties
anid perplexities. Considering what these books
are intended for, it cannot be otherwise; they are
written in order to make clear and plain, not what
is clear and plain already, but what is not so.
They may, therefore, be consulted with profit by
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those who wish to view the subject on all sides, or
whose faith labors on particular points. But where
scepticism does not originate in want of information, and is not confined to particulars, but takes
the form of a general distrust in regard to the
whole subject (and this is the common character
of modern scepticism), a resort to books on the
evidences will often be found, I think, to aggravate
rather than remove the evil. Modern scepticism
resembles in one respect that disordered state of the
affections called misanthropy, which justifies itself
on the ground that men are the proper objects of
a general distrust: both are general distrusts, and
both are to be dealt with in the same way. Now
would you think to cure a person laboring under
the delusion of misanthropy, by advising him to
dwell on the cases of real or supposed deception
and treachery which have made him distrustful of
everybody, in the hope that these will be cleared
up to his entire satisfaction? No: onl the contrary,
you would advise him to treat these cases as being
at the worst but few and exceptional, and therefore as not fairly representing human character;
and you would try to draw away his attention and
his.thoughts from these, and fix them on the bright
side of human nature as represented by the multitude of good and upright men whom he has
known.
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MEANS OF STRENGTHENING
For the same reason, the same or a similar course
should be taken with those who have become in fected in any way with religious scepticism as a
general habit or disease. Let me not be misunder stood. I do not mean that men should be afraid
of the difficulties and objections in the way of
faith, or try to hush up the controversy respecting
them. All I contend for is simply this, that, in so
vast and complicated a subject as religion, having
to do at every step with the unseen and eternal,
difficulties and objections must be expected; and,
as some of them are incident to the limitation and
imperfection of the human faculties, they never
can be entirely done away: so that we must
believe, if we believe at all, in spite of these
difficulties and objections.
Having in view this state of things, all I ask of
the sceptic is, that he would not give way to a
morbid tendency of his mind to dwell on these
difficulties and objections alone, but enter on a
generous and comprehensive survey of the whole
subject; in which it will appear that the difficulties
and objections are exceptional cases, the best an swer to which is found in the cumulative, and to
most minds overwhelming, evidence on the other
side. The sceptic may hold, if he will, that to all
human observation there are spots on the sun's
disc; I only ask him to admit, - and it would not
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AN INFIRM FAITH.
seem to be an unreasonable request, -I only ask
him to admit that the sun shines, nevertheless.
I will now suppose the sceptic to have cast away
the conceit of scepticism, and also to be willing to
survey the subject on all sides; that is, to consider
what he believes and knows, as well as what he
doubts. If still he does not believe enough, and is
anxious to believe more, his next step should be
to make the most of what he does believe; and this
in two ways, logically and practically.
In the first place, logically; that is to say, he
should consider not only how much he believes, in
express terms, but also every thing which this
implies or presupposes. This is the way, I suspect,
in which thinking and independent minds commonly expand themselves; not by borrowing a
fragment here and a fragment there, but by unfolding more and more what they already know.
A striking example of what I mean is met with
in Descartes, the founder of modern metaphysics.
Wishing to establish human knowledge on a basis
beyond the reach of attack, he began by doubting
every thing which could be doubted, and went on
this way, rejecting one thing after another, until
he came to his own existence. This he found he
could not doubt, because the very act of doubting
supposed him to exist in order to doubt. Behold
him, then, reduced in his faith to belief in his own
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MEANS OF STRENGTHENING
existence! This he could not help accepting as an
incontestable fact, and with it, of course, whatever it involved, implied, or presupposed. His
next step was, therefore, to unfold this fact to see
what it did involve, imply, or presuppose; which
he found to be every thing he had formerly been
in the habit of taking on trust. Emanuel Kant is
another example among the great thinkers who
have recovered their faith in the same way. After
having ruined by his criticism, as he thought, the
common arguments for morality and religion, he
still felt himself to be confronted by conscience,
the authority of which he could neither deny nor
call in question. Practically, he could not help
admitting that he was bound by the moral law;
and, consequently, he could not help admitting
what this on reflection was seen to involve, imply,
or presuppose: to wit, liberty, immortality, and
Divine Providence. The faith, therefore, which
his speculative reason had shaken, was restored
by his practical reason, so that he could go on
with as much confidence as before. Here, I hardly
need say, we have nothing to do with the soundness or unsoundness of the positions taken by
these philosophers.  They are referred to merely
as showing how men of unsurpassed speculative
power, joined to strong sceptical leanings, may
begin with believing little and go on to believe
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AN INFIRM FAITH.
more and more, merely by considering what is involved, implied, or presupposed in this little; that
is to say, by making the most of this little.
I am also reminded in this connection of Bishop
Butler's "Analogy of Religion to the Course of
Nature," which a competent judge 1 has pronounced "the most original and profound work
extant in any language on the philosophy of religion."   The  argument  in  this treatise is  not
addressed to atheists, but to semi-theists, like
Bolingbroke, who admitted the existence of an
intelligent Author and natural Governor of the
world. Thus much being conceded, Bishop Butler
proves that they cannot consistently stop here; by
showing that what they already believe involves
the analogy - that is, the verisimilitude or probability -of every thing else which religion teaches,
together with all the difficulties and objections by
which the subject is embarrassed. Some have
complained that this celebrated work, from its
peculiar structure and drift, is likely to raise more
difficulties and objections than it removes. This
remark may hold good in respect to a certain class
of minds; Mir. Pitt told Wilberforce that it was so
witha him; still the general rule is unquestionably
on the other side. Besides, even in those cases
where more difficulties and objections are raised
1 Sir James Mackintosh.
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MEANS OF STRENGTHENING
than removed, it does not follow that the book
fails of its leading purpose. This purpose is not
to prove that there are no difficulties and objec tions in religion, but to show what we ought to
believe and do, and what a wise man will be dis posed to believe and do, notwithstanding these
dificulties and objections,- a point of view under
which, as it seems to me, the argument is un equalled, and in many parts absolutely irresistible.
We have now seen in this way how much may
be gained by logically making the most of what
we already believe. It remains for us to consider,
as being indeed of vastly greater importance at
least to the bulk of mankind, how much may also
be gained by practically making the most of what
we already believe.
Religion, I hardly need say, is not so much a mat ter of speculation as of practice.  Confessedly it is
the great practical concernment of human life, and
therefore should be judged of by analogies borrowed
from practical affairs.   Now it may be doubted
whether a single great practical interest or measure
can be named, which has not its difficult and unset tled questions. Take politics, for example; who
will pretend that he has entirely made up his mind
on every question connected with this subject? Yet
uncertainty on some points hinders him not from
acting in respect to others, or even from taking a
118
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decided stand, if he conceives the interests or honor
of his country, or his own duty as a citizen, require
it. If it were a matter of knowledge merely, then
it would be a matter of inquiry merely; and our
whole duty would consist in continuing to inquire.
But it is not so.  It is matter!of practice; we
know, merely that we may put what we  know
into practice; so that any measure or degree of
knowledge, not reduced to practice, fails of its
purpose and end, and is therefore in a moral view
worse than total ignorance, because it is so much
light sinned against by not being acted out.
Hence in practical matters, -and again  I say,
these include religion as the greatest practical
concernment of all, - every one must perceive
the inconsistency of adopting the rule that we
will do nothing until we know every thing.
To return, then, to the sceptic in religion.
There are few, I suppose, who carry their scepticism to the extent of believing nothing at all.
On some subjects they have their doubts; on
others none. Now all I ask of such persons is
simply this: that they would be consistent, and
reduce to practice what they do believe; carry
into effect the principles respecting which they
have really made up their minds; or, which is the
same thing, live up to that measure of light to
which they have actually attained. And let it
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MEANS OF STRENGTHENING
not be thought that this, in a practical point of
view, will turn out to be a small matter. It
would be difficult to name a single important
doctrine of Christianity, which alone, to be faith fully and entirely carried out, does not require
the whole Christian character. Nay, more. We
will suppose a man's scepticism to reach the very
foundations of Christianity, making it necessary
for him to fall back on natural religion, -our
argument is still the same. Let him begin by
reducing to practice what he does believe, be it
little or much. If as yet he believes but little,
let him begin by bringing his life into faithful and
strict accordance with that little, as a condition
of believing more.  And here let me remind you
again, that a faithful and strict conformity to this
little, to one or two doctrines of natural religion,
will not turn out to be a small matter. Suppose
a man's faith narrowed down to believing that
there is a God who is just and good: he is bound,
I say, for consistency's sake and for conscience'
sake, to live as if in the presence and under the
government of such a Being; and if he really does
so, hardly a duty enjoined by Christianity will be
left unperformed.
Some may object to this reasoning, that I misconceive the nature of scepticism in making it to
consist in the narrowness or brevity of a man's
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creed. It will be said that modern scepticism
shows itself, not so much in the small number
of the articles which compose a man's creed, as
in the general distrust or misgiving with which
the whole creed and all creeds are regarded. The
sceptic cannot make up his mind whether religion
is a reality at all, in any sense or degree; whether
there is, or is not, a spiritual world, or any world
but this. And in this state of his convictions, or
rather of his want of conviction, he may think that
to act as if religion were a reality would be a kind
of untruthfulness, a seeming to believe what he
does not believe; or, at any rate, an inconsistency.
But why so.? Because a man cannot make up
his mind as to what he ought to believe, it does not
follow that he cannot make up his mind as to what
he oulght to do. Let it be that he needs more evidence to assure him of the truth and reality of
religion; let it be that the evidence is only probable evidence,- nay, that to his mind there is not
more than one chance in twenty, or one in a hundred, that religion is true,- I still insist that both
duty and consistency require that he should live
as religion directs; that is to say, on the assumption of its truth. For, in the first place, it is plain
that in life, in conduct, hlie must take one side or
the other, notwithstanding, his doubts. In opinion, a man may be in the condition of one who
6
121 
MEANS OF STRENGTHENING
neither believes nor disbelieves; but in life, in
conduct, he cannot be in the condition of one
who neither obeys nor disobeys; for not to obey
is to disobey. As regards practice, therefore, the
question with the sceptic resolves itself into this:
is it wiser and better to act on the assumption that
religion is true, and run the risk of its turning out
to be false, or to act on the assumption of its being
false, and run the risk of its turning out to be true?
Whei the alternative is put in this form, and as
regards practice it is the only alternative, I cannot
help thinking that all must be of one mind.
From not understanding the position here taken,
some may ask, Is not this to expect that the sceptic will act without a motive? Certainly not. His
motive is the hope of obtaining an infinite good,
or the dread of incurring an infinite evil:  the
magnitude of the stake being such as to make
up for any real or supposed deficiency of evidence; so much so, that a bare possibility of the
event should be sufficient to determine our conduct. Hence, in the words of Bishop Butler:
"Considering the infinite importance of religion,
revealed as well as natural, I think it may be said
in general, that whoever will weigh  the matter
thoroughly may see there is not near so much
difference, as is commonly imagined, between
what ought to be the rule of life to those per
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AN INFIRM FAITH.
sons who are fully convinced of its truth, and
to those who have only a serious doubting apprehlension that it may be true." And again. From
these things it must follow, that doubting concerning religion "implies such a degree of evidence
for it, as, joined with the consideration of its importance, unquestionably lays men under the obligation before mentioned, to have a dutiful regard
to it in all their behavior."
But this is not all. I do not count on the
power of the sceptic to-persevere in a righteous
course on the strength of his doubts, supposing
his doubts to continue. My argument is, that
he should make the most of the measure of faith
he already has, as the appointed and necessary
condition of his having  more.   The  habit of
obedience, the habit of piety, the habit of prayer,
generates a conviction of the reality of moral and
spiritual things, which  nothing else  call give.
Who has not found that, in his best moods, -
when, for example, he is in the midst of a good
work, or when his heart is full of generous affec tions and purposes, or when he is under the influ ence of good and holy men, -he finds no difficulty
irt believing what religion teaches?  We  have,
therefore, but to make our best moods our constant
moods, and our doubts would never return.
In this discourse I have supposed a person to
ll" T,
123 
124  STRENGTHENING AN INFIRM FAITH.
resemble the father of the lunatic child mentioned
in the Gospels, who "cried out, and said, with
tears, Lord, I believe: help thou mine unbelief!
It is the condition of one who has faith, but yet
is conscious at times of doubts by which his faith
is weakened or disturbed. As a remedy for this
defect, it is natural and right to recommend what
is called the study of the evidences; a study,
however, which will be to little purpose unless
the three inculcations insisted on above are re garded. Dismiss from your minds every vestige
of the conceit of scepticism. Do not allow your
minds  to dwell  exclusively or unduly on  the
difficulties of the subject; or be willing, at any
rate, to consider that, if there are difficulties in
the way of believing, there are greater ones in the
way of not believing. Above all, begin, begin to day, to live up to the measure of light and faith
to which you have already attained. Thus will
you be in a frame of mind which will dispose you
to wish, at least, that the gospel may be true;
and, if you superadd earnest and devout prayer,
your hearts will be open to receive the needed
illumination firom above. "Jesus answered them,
and said, My doctrine is not mine, but his that
sent me. If any man will do his will, he shall
know of the doctrine, whether it be of God, or
whether I speak of myself."
1848-1858. 
NOMINAL CHRISTIANS.
VII.
NOMINAL CHRISTIANS.
"Not every one that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the
kingdom7n of heaven; but he that doeth the will of my Father which is
in heaven."-MATT. vii. 21.
UR   Saviour speaks here of nominal  Chris      tians, in contradistinction to real Christians.
Enough has not been made, as it seems to me, of
this distinction; nay, the distinction itself has
often been misstated and misunderstood. It is
common to say of men who live in a Christian
community, but are themselves indifferent to the
subject of religion, that they are nominal Christians. The truth is, however, that such persons
are not Christians in any sense; they are neither
nominal Christians, nor real Christians; they do
not pretend even to the name.  Nominal  Christians, properly so called, are those who feel an
interest in the general subject of religion, and are
sincerely and perhaps zealously devoted to the
Christian sect, as a sect; that is to say, they are
125 
NOMINAL CHRISTIANS.
Christians in contradistinction to Jews, or Pagans,
or Miahometans.  They are Christian in sect; they
are Christian in name; they have a right to the
name;  but they are  not Christians in reality,
because they do not breathe the Christian spirit.
lominal Christians differ from those who are not
Christians in any sense, by being sincerely and
perhaps ardently attached to the Christian sect
and name. On the other hand, they differ from
real Christians, because though sincerely and perhaps ardently attached to the Christian sect and
name, they do  not as individuals  breathe  the
Christian  spirit.   They  are nominal Christians,
but they are not real Christians.
According to this distinction, it is obvious, in
the first place, that a mnan's zeal as a nominal
Christian may sometimes operateto prevent him
from being a real Christian. Thus when some of
the early Christians sought by pious frauds to
bring over the pagans  to their views, many of
them were actuated by a sincere zeal for the Christian sect and name. So likewise after the Christians had gotten the civil power into their own
hands, and began to turn it against the pagans
and heretics, many of them were unquestionably
actuated by a sincere zeal for the Christian sect
and name.  And  again in more  modern  times,
when Christians have lost their reason and temper
126 
NOMINAL CHRIS HIANS.
in the heat of theological controversy, there can
be no doubt that many of them at least have been
moved to it by a sincere zeal for the Christian
sect and name.  In ways like these, a man's sincere devotedness to the Christian sect and name
will sometimes push him into measures that will
have the effect to estrange him more and more
from  real Christianity.   A  man's  zeal for the
Christian sect and name, though perfectly sincere
and disinterested, will sometimes induce a spirit
the very opposite to that which real Christianity
breathes. Paradoxical as it may seem, therefore,
it is a sincere zeal for the Christian sect and name,
that sometimes operates to hinder him from being
a real Christian himself.
Secondly, the distinction here insisted on will
also lead us to observe, that Christians in all ages
have been always more anxious to extend the Christian name and sect than to spread the religion itself.
In other words, they have been more anxious to make
nominal Christians than real Christians. Take,
for example, the conversion of the Franks under
Clovis, about the beginning of the sixth century.
Clovis and his people were idolaters, but in the
distress of the battle of Toll)iac he loudly invoked
the God of the Christians, and appears to have
ascribed the victory he gained on that occasion to
the interposition of the Christians' God. While
127 
NOMl:VAL CHRISTIANS.
in this state of mind, the Catholic missionaries
found but little difficulty in persuading him and
his followers, to the number of three thousand,
to submit almost immediately to the rite of bap tism.   This, the  missionaries  thought,  was  to
make them Christians.   But what sort of Chris tians must we suppose that the sprinkling of a
little water would make out of these fierce and
ruthless barbarians, especially as we learn that
their conduct and character afterwards were not
preceptibly  improved?   Many  centuries  after wards, when the Jesuits first set in motion their
scheme for converting South America, we know
that they succeeded beyond all parallel, convert ing the natives by thousands, and by hundreds of
thousands. What sort of Christians, however, are
we to give them credit for making, it being under stood that they did not so much as attempt to cure
them of their superstitions, but only sought to give
these superstitions another and, in some respects,
a worse direction, by turning them to the use of
the Church? At one period the English govern ment, moved doubtless by humane considerations,
directed that measures should be taken for bring ing the negroes on some of the West India Islands
within the Christian pale, by the usual initiatory
rite. But as the work still went on heavily, a law
was passed in 1817 giving the clergyman a bounty
128 
NOMINAL CHRISTIANS.
of 2s. 6d. a head for every negro he should baptize.
This bribe had such effect, that one of the clergy
wrote home soon afterwards, that he had already
baptized five thousand negroes, and was making
arrangements for baptizing, before the close of the
year, all the rest on the island, amounting to about
twenty thousand more. Now, I ask again, what
sort of Christians we can suppose that sprinkling
a little water would make out of these wronged
and degraded beings, instruction and every other
means of moral and religious edification being
systematically withheld?
I am aware of the essential difficulties in the
case. I am aware that it is in order first to convert men to nominal Christianity; that it is in
order first to induce them to join the Christian
sect and adopt the Christian name, in the hope
that, being thus brought under the influence of
Christian doctrines and institutions, they may in
time become real Christians. The apostles themselves proceeded in this way; and there was no
other way in which they could proceed. What
we object to is, that any should feel chiefly
anxious to convert men to nominal Christianity;
that' they should feel satisfied with  converting
men to nominal Christianity; that they should
think their work done, or half done, when men
are induced to join the Christian sect and submit
6*                  I
129 
NOMINAL CHRISTIANS.
to its outward rites, and assume the Christian
name. Men are not real Christians because they
are nominal Christians, because they belong to
any one of the Christian sects, or because they
are ever so sincerely devoted to the Christian
name. Men are not real Christians because they
are Calvinists, or Unitarians, or Baptists. They
are not real Christians until, as individuals, they
breathe the Christian  spirit, and  live a Chris tian life.
Again, we sometimes hear of Christian com munities, of Christian States; but the distinctions
pointed out in this discourse between nominal and
real Christians make it clear that there is no
State, and that there never has been one, which
can be pronounced Christian except in name.
Christianity may be perhaps the popular worship,
its truth and importance may be recognized by the
laws, and provision may be made for its institutions
by public enactments, and perhaps at the public
charge. Still this does not prove that the State,
considered as a whole community, is penetrated
throughout with the Christian spirit, and deter mined and governed in all things by Christian
principles. It only proves that the State, in its
public capacity, has joined itself to the Christian
sect; that it calls itself Christian; that it is to be
regarded as part of Christendom; that it is a
130 
N1OMINAL CHRISTIANS.
Christian State and not a Mahometan  State: in
one word, that it is nominally Christian. Namne, if
you can, the State in any age, or in any part of the
world, which, considered as a whole community,
can be pronounced really Christian! Where is the
nation in which the laws, the customs, the institutions, - in which literature, public opinion, and
public amusements, - are uniformly or generally
in accordance with the spirit and precepts of the
New Testament? Where is the government that
is administered by none but real Christians, and invariably or generallr according to Christian principles, and in the Christian spirit? Where is the
people on the face of the earth, who, as a whole
people, love God supremely, and one another as
themselves? Not one, not one! I suppose that
without undue national vanity we may say of the
moral and religious condition of our own country,
that it will compare favorably with that of any
other. When we look around, however, and observe how little there is amongst us of a truly
Christian spirit; what vague and imperfect notions
prevail of the Christian character, of Christian philanthropy, and even of Christian honesty; and behotd also the jealousies and the chicanery, and the
mean and bad passions which trouble the course
of human affairs, and the consent in great public
wrongs, -I fear it would be a mere compliment to
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NOMINAL CHRIS TIANS.
say even of the people of this community, that they
are as a body, that they are universally, or even
generally, real  Christians.  Doubtless in every
Christian community individuals may be found
who are real Christians; but, I repeat it, the
community, considered as a whole community, is
Christian only in name. History has not, as yet,
furnished us with a single example of a truly
Christian people, of a whole community pervaded
and governed throughout by the spirit and law of
Christ.
I go further than this.  I have spoken of States,
and I would now speak of religious sects. I believe there is no sect, and that there never has
been one, which can be pronounced Christian ex cept in name. I make no exceptions, for I believe
in my conscience there is none. Doubtless there is
no considerable religious sect in which individuals
cannot be found who are real Christians; and in
some religious sects there may be more real Chris tians than in others; and the views held by some
sects may be, in themselves considered, peculiarly
favorable to the nurture of a truly Christian char acter. Still, when we come to read the history of
these sects, I fear we shall find that, without a
solitary exception, they have been swayed, as sects,
by a spirit oftentimes not only not Christian, but
positively antichristian. I fear it will be found that,
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NOMINAL CHRISTIANS.
without a solitary exception, they have borrowed
their notions of policymas sects, from the world,
and not from the New Testament. We may think
that it was different formerly, but history does not
confirm this impression. Cardinal Barberini being
present at Rome, at the canonization of a saint
whom he had himself personally known, and
known to be unworthy'of that honor, could not
help whispering to a bystander, that these new
saints put him in strange doubts and difficulties
about the old ones. I fear it will be found, moreover, that those especially who take the lead in
religious sects, and stamp the character of the
party, are not commonly men very remarkable for
the Christian virtues of charity, meekness, and
heavenly mindedness. In common parlance, we
call all these sects Christian sects; and it is proper
that we should, for they have a right to the name.
As sects, they are probably sincere in their profession of attachment to the Christian name, and
belong therefore to the Christian denomination; in
other words, they are nominally Christian. They
have a right to the name, all of them. They
are Christians in contradistinction to atheists or
dents, to Jews or Mahometans.   They  have a
right to the name, -all of them; but still they
want the reality.  They are not, as sects, pervaded throughout, and influenced and determined
4
138 
NOMINAL CHRISTIANS.
in all their measures, by the spirit and example of
Jesus.
Thus have I endeavored to point out and illus trate the true distinction between nominal and
real Christianity.   I have also shown  that it is
nominal Christianity only, which can be said as
yet to prevail even in Christendom, in Christian
States, and in Christian sects. One great revolu tion has been wrought in converting men to nominal
Christianity. Another and still more important
revolution remains yet to, be wrought, in order to
convert them, as a body, to real Christianity.
From this doctrine there are two practical infer ences which I must entreat you to ponder well.
In the first place, it supplies us with a full and
perfect answer to the popular objection to Chris tianity, derived from the inconsistencies and vices
of professed Christians. They are not the incon sistencies and vices of real Christians. Now it is
manifestly absurd to make Christianity answerable
for the conduct of those who, by the very terms of
the proposition, have not as yet been converted
to real Christianity. Bring me a man who is
thoroughly imbued with the spirit of the gospel,
*and who has brought his whole life and mind into
subjection to the law of Christ, and I admit that it
would be perfectly fair to try the merits of the religion by the conduct of the disciple. Point me
134 
NOMINAL CHRISTIANS.
to a community that is pervaded and governed
throughout by the spirit and maxims of the New
Testament, and I admit that it would be perfectly
fair, in such a case, to try the merits of the religion
by its actual results. But in the name of reason
and common sense, why would you charge on
Christianity itself the inconsistencies and vices
which originate in a want of Christianity? With
what show even of plausibility can you make
real Christianity responsible for the inconsistencies
and vices of those who are not real Christians, but
only nominal Christians?
My second inference from the doctrine of this
discourse is still more personal and direct in its
application. Amidst the immense number and
variety of nominal Christians, where are we to
look for real Christians? And yet it is only in proportion as men become real Christians, that they
can hope to be saved. Submitting to ordinances
will avail us nothing; assenting to propositions
will avail us nothing; being clamorous for what we
deem the truth will avail us nothing; giving our
bodies to be burned will avail us nothing,- without
the temper and life of a real Christian.   How
many thousand martyrs have poured out their
blood like water in the name of Christ, and yet
have not breathed his spirit, and therefore were
none of his! The world stands in need of another
135
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AN3OMINAL CHRIS TIANS.
regeneration, deeper and more spiritual than the
first, converting men from nominal Christianity to
real Christianity. We want something more than
mere profession; we want something more than
mere belief, however sincere; we want something
more than mere zeal, however disinterested and
self-sacrificing; we want something more than a
mere external sobriety and virtue. We must pray
to be imbued with the Christian spirit; we must
resolve to live a Christian life.  "Not every one
that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the
kingdom of heaven; but he that doeth the will
of my Father which is in heaven."  "Many will
say to me, in that day, Lord, Lord, have we not
prophesied in thy name, and in thy name have
cast out devils, and in thy name done many
wonderful works? And then will I profess unto
them, I never knew you; depart from me, ye that
work iniquity."
1830-1861.
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THE DAILY CROSS.
VIII.
THE DAILY CROSS.
"And he said unto them all, If any man will come after me, let him
deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me."  LUKE  ix. 23.
T is often mentioned, and not without reason,
as one proof of the honesty of the first Christians, that they did not hold out before their followers the lure of an easy or self-indulgent life.
"Then," said our Saviour, " they shall deliver
you up to be afflicted, and shall kill you, and ye
shall be hated of all nations for my name's sake."
"They shall lay hands on you, and persecute you,
delivering you up to the synagogues, and into
prisons; and ye shall be betrayed both by parents and brethren and kinsfolk and friends."
" But these things have I told you, that when the
time sliall come ye may remember that I told you
of them."
All must admit that this was dealing fairly
and honestly with men. At the same time, I
am bound to say that I think it was also dealing
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THE DAILY CROSS.
wisely with them. Men of a strong, earnest, and
resolved spirit, the only men to be relied upon in
building up a new religion, if convinced of the
importance of a cause, are only won to it the
more by the difficulties and dangers which environ it. To the interest of the duty is thus added
the interest of the struggle. The only minds
which are likely to be repelled are timid, distrustful, unsteady minds; these however are not the
strength, but the weakness of a struggling cause.
They constitute the unsound part of the army,
which at some critical moment of the battle starts
a panic, or goes over to the enemy; and by this
treachery of weakness, if not of purpose, betrays
all. For a forlorn hope, a hundred picked men,
without an individual who knows what it is to
hesitate or falter in a noble enterprise, are stronger
by far than ten times that number if mixed with
here and there a faint heart, sufficient to infect
the whole with irresolution, with even so much as
the thought of turning back. The first Christians
were picked men. It was necessary this should be
so; and that they were so, we owe it, under God,
to the whirlwind of persecution which met them
everywhere, winnowing the chaff from the wheat;
and not only the chaff, but all the light and imperfect kernels.
In process of time, power passed out of the
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THE DAILY CROSS.
hands of the pagans into those of the Christians:
and, after that, none but heretics could aspire to
the glory of martyrdom; and even in respect to
them, the fires of persecution began to burn lower
and lower. The Christian world was soon made
to feel how much it had lost, in losing the purifying influence of suffering; and, to supply the
defect, they very naturally resorted to artificial
means: partly to self-inflicted tortures, and partly
to the fasts and penances of the Church.
Of the self-inflicted tortures it is hardly possible for us, at the present day, to speak as we
should, because it is hardly possible for us to
enter into the thoughts and feelings of the persons whom we undertake to judge. They believed, -that is, those at least who were  most
active in introducing ascetic practices into the
Church, believed,- that matter was wholly evil;
that all our natural affections and desires were
sinful, and sinful only, and that continually; that
the war between the flesh and the spirit was a
war of extermination; that the body was not
something to be subdued and regulated, but
something to be spurned, mortified, killed. With
these views their duty was plain.  It would be
well for us if we lived up to our idea of what
makes a good man, as nearly as they did up to
theirs.
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THE DAILY CROSS.
Of the fasts and penances of the Church I can not say as much. Imposed, but not self-imposed,
they have always been liable to be used as the
instruments of tyranny and oppression on one
part, and to beget nothing better than hypocrisy
or formality on the other. Among a rude people,
in order to tame their ferocity and turbulence,
and bring them under subjection to a spiritual
rule, this discipline may sometimes have an swered a good purpose; but even here I sus pect that the benefit has been almost always
overrated. It is a required, a coerced, and there fore for the most part an outside penitence. It
has no living root, like the self-tortures of the
anchorite, in the moral aspirations of the sufferer
himself. However this may be, it is certain that
Church fasts and penances in these last days, ex cept with the very ignorant and a few devotees,
have sunk into a byword for their illsignificance.
These are some of the ways in which the Chris tians of other times were called upon, or thought
themselves called upon, to crucify "the flesh with
the affections and lusts; " but it is plain that we
must look elsewhere for occasions to prove our
faith and constancy.
But the times just referred to have been, and
have passed away. Persecution, in the sense in
which that word used to be understood, is no
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THE DAILY CROSS.
longer to be expected in the ordinary course of
events. Neither are any of us likely, with our
notions of life and duty, to think it necessary or
wise to submit to ascetic practices, whether selfimposed, or imposed by the Church.  Still, what
our Lord says in the text must be considered as
applicable to all times: "If any man will come
after me, let him deny himself, and take up his
cross daily, and follow me."
Never was the earnest inculcation of this precept more needed than at the present day. Surrounded, as many Christians now are, by ease,
security, and abundance, they are tempted not
only to neglect the self-denying virtues, but
almost to forget their obligations and the important place they hold in the Christian life.
When a cross is actually laid upon us by Providence, when it cannot be averted, all I suppose
will agree that it ought to be borne, and borne
with firmness and a calm trust; but that we are
frequently called upon to submit to self-denial
not from necessity but from choice, or, in other
words, to take up our cross voluntarily, and to
take it up daily, is not so generally conceded.
To *some it may even sound as no better than a
futile attempt to revive the self-inflicted austerities of the cloister, which the age, as all Protestants at least will allow, has outgrown.
141 
THE DAILY CROSS.
What, then, is meant by that self-denial which
is so frequently enjoined upon all men, in the
New Testament? Every one is required to take
up his cross daily; but what to crucify?
There is the more need of some explanation
here, because the term self-denial, if literally
understood, might mislead. We are not to deny
ourselves in the sense of denying our whole selves;
for this would be to deny what is good in us, as
well as what is bad. What then, I ask again, are
we to deny?
Every one must be conscious of being under the
influence of two orders of propensities and desires:
the higher, or those which belong to him as a ra tional and moral being; and the lower, or those
which belong to him as a sensual and selfish
being. Even the lower tendencies of our nature
are not bad in themselves; they are bad only when
they interfere with the proper development, or with
the proper gratification, of the higher. Here then
it is, that Christian self-denial begins and ends; we
are to deny the solicitations of our lower nature,
whenever they interfere with the aspirations of
our higher nature. Christian self-denial does not
require us to deny our nature as a whole, but only
to be true to our nature as a whole; that is, to
take care that the rightful subordination amongst
its various springs of action shall be maintained.
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THE DAILY CROSS.
Christian self-denial does not require us to deny
our happiness; that is to say, our highest happiness; but only to be true to that happiness, by
repressing every appetite or passion which puts
itself in opposition to it, or which tends to frustrate or endanger it.
Again, neither reason nor the New Testament
makes the moral value of self-denial depend on
the pain it costs. This pain is the measure, not so
much of what we have done, as of what we have
yet to do, in order to make ourselves thoroughly
good men. It is manifestly the sign of an unformed or of a half-formed Christian character, to
find it hard to keep under the lower propensities
of our nature, when they stand in the way of
moral progress.  If we cannot give up without
reluctance or regret any appetite or desire, as soon
as we see it to interfere with our highest good, so
much the worse for us; but we can hardly set
down such reluctance or regret, or the pain it
gives us, to the score of merit. Who would think
that a man ought to be praised or rewarded for the
pain it costs him to keep himself from lying or
stealing? He would feel none of this pain, if his
natfre had been properly disciplined; and the
moral value of self-denial consists in its tendency
to bring about this discipline: to teach every part
of our nature to know its place, and keep its
143 
THE DAILY CROSS.
place, and thus to co-operate harmoniously andcl
spontaneously in promoting the highest good of
the individual.   The moral value of self-denial
does not consist in the pain it costs, but in its
tendency to induce a habit of virtue, under the
influence of which the practice of virtue will
become agreeable and easy; so as, in the end, that
is to say in heaven, to dispense with the necessity
of self-denial altogether.
Self-denial, therefore, is not an end but a means;
the end being to convert, through the power of
habit, a painful and constrained obedience into a
joyful and free obedience. The highest form of
virtue is not the virtue of self-denial, but of
earnest and irrepressible love; when duty has
ceased to be a task and become a pleasure, a kind
of necessity. Hence that sublime doctrine of the
New Testament. "Whosoever is born of God doth
not commit. sin, for his seed remaineth in him;
and he cannot sin, because he is born of God."
Not entirely satisfied with this view of the subject, some may still ask, "What! is there not more
moral worth in an action requiring great selfdenial, than in one requiring little or none? For
example; is not a choleric man more meritorious
for keeping his temper, under great provocation,
than he would be if by nature or habit mild and
self-possessed? Is not a man who abstains from
144 
THE DAILY CROSS.
intoxicating drinks, though he hankers for them,
more meritorious than he would be if he did not
hanker for them, if he loathled them?"
These questions are often put in a tone which
would seem to imply that they must be answered
in the affirmative; yet such an answer will be
found to involve consequences which nobody, I
suppose, would care to admit. It would follow
that, just in proportion as a imani succeeds in subduing and extirpating his evil inclinations, the
merit of his obedience must become less and less,
until at last it entirely disappears. Thus, to recur
to the examples just given; were a man to succeed in entirely overcoming a choleric temper, or a
hankering for intoxicating drillks, - as a good man
is very likely to do, or at any rate aims to do,- after
that he would be gentle or temperate as a matter
of course; but there would be no merit in it, because there would be no difficulty in it: it would
be worth nothing, for it would cost nothing.  Or
take a case of a somewhat different description.
Suppose a manil to begin to attend church from a
sense of duty, though it is extremely irksome to
him.  For a while, oIl the principle assumed above,
there would be great merit in it, because it would
call for great self-denial. But suppose the man, in
process of time, to become deeply interested in religion and ill religious services. Of course he will
7        J
145
I
7
J 
THE DAILY CROSS.
still continue to attend church. Now, however,
instead of its being irksome to him, he finds the
greatest delight in it.  But if so, then, on the
principle assumed above, there would be no merit
in it; attending church would be no better than a
kind of self-indulgence.
Obviously, therefore, it will not do to estimate
the deserts of a Christian by the degree of selfdenial which accompanies his conduct; certainly
not by the degree of self-deinial which now accompanies his conduct.
Most of the error or perplexity on this subject
has probably grown out of not distinguishing
between the judgment passed on single actions, and
the judgment passed on the character of the agent.
In pronouncing judgment on a single action we
are influenced and determined, I allow, in no small
measure, by the amount of self-denial it costs.
We admire an act of self-sacrifice; we cannot help
admiring such an act, whatever we may think of
the agent in other respects; that is to say, whatever we may think of his character generally. We
cannot help admiring a generous or just action
whenr performed in the face of great difficulty and
great opposition; because it was less to be expected on this account; because it supposes great
effort, and this, again, great strength of purpose;
because it is a triumph  of the  human  will,
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THE DAILY CROSS.
a triumph in which we can all sympathize, and
one in which we all seem to share. Hence, I
suppose it is, that our Saviour has said, "Likewise joy shall be in heaven over one sinner
that repenteth, more than over ninety-and-nine
just persons which need no repentance." It is
not meant that the new convert is an object of
more favor or confidence, in himself considered,
than a man of tried and confirmed virtue; undoubtedly he is not an object of as much of either.
Still there is something in the single act by which
the sinner breaks away from his old habits, and
tramples under foot his evil inclinations, and turns
unto God, - something so unexpected, so auspicious, so heroic, -that it cannot fail to excite at
the moment in all good beings, on earth and iii
heaven, a peculiar joy and admiration,- a momentary burst of exultation.
But the joy and admiration inspired by a single
action, at the moment of its performance, have
nothing to do, at any rate nothing to do definitely,
with what will become of the agent himself at
last, or with the sober and just estimate to be made
of his deserts on the whole. As men we are to be
judged, as the Scriptures say, according to our
deeds; but not according to our deeds taken
singly and abstractly, and without reference to the
influence they have on ourselves; nor yet according
147 
THE DAILY CROSS.
to any real or supposed preponderance of our good
deeds over our bad deeds, or of our bad deeds
over our good deeds, taken abstractly and numerically. We are to be judged according to our
deeds in this sense only: we are to be judged according to the moral state or condition in which
all our deeds, taken together, have left us.  "God
looketh on the heart." Every man is to be judged
according to what he is in himself; according to
what he has become, - his past actions having nothing to do with his present or his future prospects,
except in so far as they have contributed to make
his dispositions and character what they now are;
or, in other words, have contributed to make him
what he has become.
Hence it appears that the rule, according to
which we pass judgment on actions taken singly
and abstractly, is very different from that according to which we pass judgments on men. The
glory of an action depends on its unexpectedness,
on its difficulty, on the moral force or moral
courage it displays, sometimes even on the general
degradation of the agent; for the glory of the single action may be, that one so degraded in other
respects should suddenly raise himself to so noble
a thought, to so high an endeavor. But, when we
speak of the worth of a man, we always make it
to depend on what he is in himself; that is to say,
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THE DAILY CROSS.
on the habits he has formed; not on the amount
of discipline which he has undergone, simply and
abstractly considered, but on the effect this discipline has had on his character; on the degree of
harmony, purity, and elevation of soul which he
has actually gained; in one word, to adopt the
language in which the Scriptures  express  the
change, on his having been "born again," on his
having  become "a new  creature."  We  think
better of an action in proportion to the difficulty
and self-denial it involves; but, when we turn from
the action to the man, we think better of him in
proportion as he is in a condition to do the same
thing without any difficulty at all, without any selfdenial at all.  The best man, the perfect man, if
we could find one, would be a person with whom,
in ordinary circumstances, it would be as easy and
natural to fulfil all righteousness, as to breathe.
This distinction being understood and admitted,
we see at once that self-denial is not the Christian
character, nor an essential part of it, but only one
of the instrumentalities by which the Christian
character is formed. Self-denial does not belong
to us as Christians; that is to say, as perfect
Chtstians: for, in the perfect Christian, duty and
pleasure become one; no place is therefore left for
self-denial: it belongs to us as persons who aspire
to be Christians, who are learning to be Christians.
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THE DAILY CROSS.
In saying this, however, I do but say that, in
point of fact, it belongs to us all; for what can be
truly said of the best of us, except that we are
learning or aspiring to be Christians? -some in
the midst of the process, some just beginning,
others only thinking about beginning, if indeed
so much as that. Inii respect to all such persons
without exception, the gospel teaches that it is
only by self-denial,- that is, by crossing, restraining, and subduing the lower tendencies of our
nature whenever they interfere with the higher tendencies of our nature, - that each one can bring
his character into harmony with itself, and subject
the whole to the law of Christ.
The fact that we have fallen upon easy and
prosperous times, and are tempted by abundance
and opportunity on every side, only makes this
discipline so mruch the more indispensable.   In a
barren and poor country the people are abstemious
and frugal, not from self-denial, but from nlecessity.  And  so in the case of individuals.  An
ambitious young man, starting in life with nothing to depend upon but his own exertions to make
his way in the world, is comparatively in no danger
from the love of ease or pleasure: if his conscience
or his ambition do not restrain him, his want of
means will. It is not until luxury abounds, and
the means of self-indulgence are brought within
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THE DAILY CROSS.
the reach of all, that degeneracy is likely to prevail; for it is not until-then, that the vices of selfindulgence become possible, - I mean, generally
so, and to a ruinous extent. This, then, would
seem to be the law: As any people advance in
wealth and refinement, the restraints of necessity
are gradually taken off; after which, it is only in
so far as their place is supplied by the restraints
of self-denial, that the national decay and ruin
are stayed.   History tells us how it was with
the civilizations which were founded on paganism. They stood the trials of adversity; but
unider the trials of prosperity they all fell. If a
better fate awaits the civilizations founded on
Christianity, it will be mainly owing, under God,
to its doctrine of the cross; to the fact that these
civilizations are thoroughly penetrated with the
spirit of him who  has said, "If any man will
come after me, let him deny himself, and take
up his cross daily, and follow me."
Not only is self-denial becoming every day more
necessary, but also more difficult. Much is said of
the self-denying virtues of our fathers, under the
hardships and privations of the early settlement of
thig country, and in their struggle for indepenidence; and I heartily concur in the honor in which
they are held on this account. Still all must agree,
that it is not as hard to bear restraints which our
151
I.-, I 
THE DAILY CROSS.
condition has laid upon us, and which  we know
we cannot throw off if we would, as it is to bear
restraints which we have laid upon ourselves, and
which we know we can continue to bear, or not, as
we please.  No doubt it is hard to perform a task
set us by an inevitable Providence; but it is harder
still to set the same task to ourselves, and still be
faithful to it. In the former case, we have but
one thought: it must be borne; in the latter, we
have the alternative, duty on one side, and indul gence on the other.  We can bear it or not as we
please; and it is the knowledge of this alternative,
more even than hunger and nakedness, more even
than prisons and scaffolds, which tries men's souls.
We often hear it said, that the spirit of martyrdom
is dying out. I believe no such thing. I believe
that, if persecution for opinion's sake were to be
revived to-day, there would be as many who would
be burned at the stake, rather than deny the faith,
as at any former period. The spirit of this form
of martyrdom is latent merely because the exigency
does not exist to call it forth. MIeanwhllile we have
our own peculiar cross to bear,-a cross, too, which
in one respect is harder to bear than that of per-secution; for it is not laid upon us by others, but
we are required to take it up of our own accord and
lay it on ourselves, and bear it with unshrinking
fortitude, with untiring constancy.
'I, 
152 
THE DAILY CROSS.
What adds to the difficulty of self-denial at the
present day is, that it requires not only self-control,
but self-knowledge. Every man is called upon in
the text to take up his cross daily; but what to
crucify? I answer, His bosom sin. As was said
before, self-denial does not consist in denying our
whole selves, but in denying any and every propenisity of our lower nature which comes in competition with our higher nature. It is to deny the
body, that we may be true to the soul; it is to
deny what is worldly in us, that we may be true
to what is heavenly in us; it is neither more nor
less than a practical recognition of the sovereignty
of reason and conscience and faith over passion
and appetite. But the rebel which is to be denied
and subdued in your heart is probably very different from the rebel which is to be denied and
subdued in mine. With one man it is the love
of ease; with another it is the love of pleasure
with another it is an irascible temper; with another it is the love of money; with another it is
a selfish ambition.  Nay, we may have aspirations,
which, in their proper connection and subordination, are among the most amiable and commendable, - such as a thirst for knowledge, a desire of
honorable distinction, - but which turn traitors
when they tempt us to be unfaithful to virtue
and religion.  Our Saviour has said, "He that
7*
153
I,,-. I 
THE DAILY CROSS.
loveth father or mother more than me, is not
worthy of me; and he that loveth son or daughter
more than me, is not worthy of me." Every one
therefore must be willing to know the cherished
idol of his own heart, whatever it may be, though
aware that his object in knowing it is, that he
may deny it and put it under his feet.
Remember also what has been already intimated
more than once. We are not merely to deny, we
are to subdue, our rebellious inclinations, - the
lusts and desires that war against the soul. The
moral worth of self-denial does not consist in the
pain it costs, but in its tendency to curb the lower
propensities of our nature, to restore a lost symmetry and harmony of character, to induce the
habit of natural, easy, and spontaneous obedience
to the Divine will. A man may fight against his
Silns all his life long, and fight bravely, and die
fighting; if however he does not conquer them, it
is plain that he will die in his sins. The battle is
necessary; the battle however is not for the sake
of the battle, but for the sake of the victory. The
life of God in the soul of man begins in struggle
and self-denial; but it ends in love and repose.
What then, in conclusion, does Christianity require of us under the name of self-denial? Not
self-mortification; which is nothing but the folly
of morbid consciences.   Not  austerities of any
154
!" I 1 
THE DAILY CROSS.
kind; which are nothing but the despotism of a
proud spirit playing the tyrant over its own tastes
and inclinations. But she warns us, that our conditioni in this life is not constituted on the plan of
ease and safety, but on that of difficulty and conflict. She warns us that our nature, if left to
itself, will go to destruction. She warns us that
the first duty incumbent on every man that lives
is the duty of ruling his own spirit, and putting
every rebellious principle under his feet. Under
these circumstances, what religion requires of us
is the firm and sure step of one who has gained
the mastery over himself, and uses this mastery in
the pursuit of the noblest ends by the noblest
means. And she requires it of us all. She requires it of us as men; above all, she requires it
of us as Christians. She holds up before us the
sacred symbol of our faith, and proclaims the law:
By this you are to conquer. And, knowing our
weakness and our need of help, she conjures us,
she beseeches us, to bow meekly and humbly
before the Crucified One, whom we acknowledge
as our Example and Lord, that we may arm ourselves with the same mind that was in him.  She
also' comforts us by repeating his words: "In this
world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good
cheer; I have overcome the world."
1851-1858.
155
I I 
ON KEEPING THE PROMISES
IX.
ON KEEPING THE PROMISES WE MAKE TO OUR.
SELVES.
"And Jacob vowed a vow, saying, If God will be with me, and will
keep me in this way that I go, and will give me bread to eat and
raintent to put on, so that I come again to my father's house  in
peace, then shall the Lord be mny God." -  GENESs xxviii. 20, 21.
THIS is the first formal vow on record, though
the practice itself appears to have existed
from the earliest times. It had its foundation in
human  nature.  In the infancy of the world men
did not look on God as we do; they did not regard
him as a Spirit, or think that those who worship
him should worship him in spirit and in truth.
They reverenced him, it is true, as a superior
Being; but still as having like interests and like
passions with themselves,- susceptible to atten tions and flattery, expecting favor for favor, and
therefore to be propitiated by votive services and
offerings.   The  Jewish  lawgiver,  finding  this
custom in existence, adopted it into his code,
though, as it would seem, not so much to recom
156 
WE MAKE TO OURSELVES.
mend it, as to subject it to proper regulations, and
to prevent abuses.  According to him, vows when
made were, as a general rule, to be kept; still he
is careful to say, "But if thou shalt forbear to
vow, it shall be no sin."
In our days vows have fallen into disuse, partly,
no doubt, from the spread of a more rational faith;
and partly also, I am afraid, from a less worthy
cause, namely, a growing neglect on the part of
many to recognize their personal relations to God
in the affairs of life, or to appeal to the sanctions of
religion in aid of duty.  I do not mean that men
have given up, or are likely to give up, promising
what they will do in the future.  The change consists in this: instead of making these promises, as
they once did, to God, they now make them to one
another; or, more frequently still, to themselves.
Hardly an individual can be found who does not
at times promise himself, that, in certain contingencies, he will take a certain course or do certain things which he believes to be right. Thus
a large portion of the most solemn promises which
we make consists of those which we make to ourselves; and my object in the present discourse will
be to set forth our duty in respect to this class of
promises, - the promises which we make to our8elves.
Even the schoolboy, mortified at the poor appear
157 
ON KEEPING THE PROMISES
ance he has made after having neglected his lesson,
promises himself that he will be more attentive in
future, and avoid the recurrence of a like disgrace.
An ingenuous youth, betrayed into imprudence or
crime by his inexperience, or by bad counsels,
promises himself that in future he will be more on
his guard.  A man of a quick and hot temper says
or does, in a fit of unrestrained anger, what he
afterwards sincerely regrets; he therefore promises
himself that in future he will keep a harder curb on
his passions. A man is led on little by little in
play, until he finds that he has gained or lost a
considerable sum, - in short, that he is fast becom iig a gambler; and, alarmed at the tendency of
these things, he promises himself that no tempta tion shall ever induce him again to take a card into
his hands.   A  man awakes after the debauch of
the last night, feverish and sick, ashamed and
penitent, and promises himself that from that mo ment he will break for ever from the scenes, company, and amusements which have so often had
power to overcome his best resolutions.  A man
begins a new study, engages in a new and difficult
undertaking, enters lupon new and important rela tions in life; and, made serious by the uncertainty
of the future, he promises himself that nothing
which he can do or dare shall be wanting to his
success.  A  man is interrupted in a worldly and
158 
WE MAKE TO OURSELVES.
thoughtless career by a dangerous sickness, and
being forcibly led by his situation to review his
past conduct, and consider his unfitness for eternity, he promises himself that, should he recover,
he will commence a new life.
I might go on multiplying illustrations without
end, but enough has been said to indicate the
number and variety of the promises which men
are continually making to themselves.  They constitute, as I have said, a large proportion of the
best considered and most solemn promises which
any of us make. Nobody will deny that they are
made, for the most part, in good faith, and with
a serious purpose of fulfilling them; that they are
entered into in our best moods, that they are the
dictates of our best judgment, and that it would
be best for us on every account to keep them.
Yet the readiness and frequency with which they
are broken has become a proverb. Why is this?
Some may think it not only accounted for, but
justified or at least excused, on the ground that
the promises which we make to ourselves are
merely secret purposes or resolutions, which we
are at liberty to change when we please. But
I cannot agree to either part of this statement.
Let  it be  that  the  promises  in question are
only another way of saying to ourselves what
we propose to do in particular cases; in other
159
11, 4 
ON KEEPING THE PROMISES
words, that they are nothing but another name
for good resolutions. Even in this view of the
matter, I deny that we are at liberty to change
them widen we please. No matter whether we
regard them as promises properly so called, or
merely as good resolutions, we have no right to for get them, or set them aside, when the moment for
action arrives. We have no right not to make the
good resolutions; much less, to break them after
they have been made.
But I do not concede what has just been as sumed. A clear distinction can be drawn, as it
seems to me, between general resolutions to do
well, and specific promises made to ourselves that
we will pursue a particular line of conduct. You
know how it is in  our  dealings with others in
analogous cases. If I merely say, in general
phrase, that I mean to serve a firiend, but do not
promise any particular service, he cannot claim
any particular service at my hands. If, on the coin trary, my expression of good wishes takes the form
of a specific promise to do this or that, he can hold
me to my word. And so in my intercourse with
myself. So long as I can put myself off with good
resolutions; that is, with general purposes to repent
and do well hereafter, - I may postpone fulfilling
them day after day, and month after month, and
year after year, and yet not feel that I have
160 
WE MAKE TO OURSELVES.
abandoned them. I may still hold and cherish the
same good resolutions to repent and do well hereafter. But if I solemnly promise myself that on a
certain occasi9n, or at a certain time, I will do a
particular thing, and fail to do it, I know and
feel that I have broken my word. I know and feel
that I cannot be relied on; and, what is more and
worse, that I cannot rely on myself. Again, a
particular and specific promise is more even than a
particular and specific resolution for another reason.
In all such cases, the pronlise is the resolution
begun to be carried out. I have proceeded so far as
to give my word to that effect; and if this is nothing, it must be because my word is nothing.
Again, others may hastily conclude that promises made to ourselves are not binding, because
they are not published; because they are known
to ourselves alone; because there is no witness.
But here, as before, I cannot admit either the
fact, or the inference from the fact. What is it,
I would begin by asking, that makes any promise binding?  Not human laws;  for all human
laws  might  be  struck  out of being, without
making our promises any the less binding on our
consciences.  Nor yet the  mere  fact that by
publishing the promise we have raised expectations
in others; for a promise extorted from us by force,
or obtained by false pretences, will have the effect
K
161 
ON KEEPING THE PROMISES
to raise expectations in others: but this will not
make such a promise morally binding,. A promise
is binding, when in a fair and full view of the
subject we voluntarily enter into engagements,
by which we stand pledged to regulate our future
conduct. Now all this holds true of the promises
in  question.   For example, when  a sick  man
promises that, should he recover, he will amend his
ways; or the conscience-stricken oppressor, that he
will repent of his misdeeds and make reparation
for the wrongs hle has done, -in all such cases it
will not be denied that a promise is really made,
and made voluntarily, and in a fair and full view
of the subject, and with an expectation of per forming it; and that such will be our duty. But
there is no witness!  Suppose, for a moment,
there were none; this might affect the means of
proving or enforcing the promise, but not its moral
obligation.  If you were at a loss whether you had
made the promise or not, it might be of importance
to call in witnesses to satisfy you on that point;
but what need is there of witnesses to prove a fact
which is not doubted? Besides, this supposition
that there is no witness, is wholly gratuitous.
There is a witness, - that Being whose eye is every where, on the evil and on the good,-there is a
witness whose presence is felt and acknowledged
at the time of making the promise. Moreover, it
162 
WE MAKE TO OURSELVES.
is the witness of that Eye, and not the witness of
the many eyes of the world, which is the foundation of our responsibility in all cases, even for our
most public acts. That Eye is upon us in all
places, at all times. It penetrates into our most
secret thoughts; it is acquainted with our most
secret promises; it remembers them whether we
do or not, and it will call them into judgment at
the last day.
There is also another ground for evading our
duty in respect to the promises we make to ourselves, which is likely to occur to some minds. It
may be said that, when a man makes a promise to
himself, he is both parties to the contract; not only
promiser, but promisee; so that should he afterwards conclude to break it, he can do so without
blame on obtaining his own consent: for this, as
in the present case it comprehends the consent of
both parties, is authority sufficient to annul the
most solemn compact. But, in the first place,
whoever should reason thus forgets, - no, he
does not forget, but he refuses or neglects to
consider, - that when such promises are entered
into it is distinctly understood on the part of the
promriser's conscience, that they shall never be
made the subject of this sort of tampering. No
one, I suppose, will pretend that the promiser, at
the time of making such a promise, means to leave
163 
ON KEEPING THE PROMISES
himself at liberty to keep it or not as he sees fit;
for if so, why make the promise? He would do
what he sees fit when the time comes round, with out the promise, just as well.
Moreover, though the promise is made to the
same person who makes it, it is not made to the
same person in the same capacity. It is the self
in both cases, but the self considered as divided
into two, - the acting self and the judging self.
It is the will making a promise to the conscience.
Make the most, therefore, of this right to release
ourselves from the obligation of such a promise,
it is a right which belongs exclusively to the con science; for it was to the conscience that the
promise was originally made. But who will say,
that, when we break the promises we have made
to ourselves, it is commonly from the calm and
unbiassed consent of our consciences? Who does
not know that, in nine cases out of ten, our unfaithfulness to such promises is owing to the reascendancy of the very passions against which
the promise was directed, and which it was intended to restrain, but which are again allowed
to bear down conscience, and the promise too?
Indeed, I might insist that in most instances the
promise is not so much made to ourselves, as to
God. It is, to all intents and purposes, the reproduction, under a modern form, of the ancient vow.
164 
WE MAKE TO OURSELVES.
Even though in form we make the promise to ourselves, we often do it looking to God as the witness
and guaranty of our sincerity; which virtually involves a promise to Him, that we will be faithful to
the promises which we make to ourselves. And He
will hold us to such promises.
When therefore, in a moral and religious view
of our responsibilities, we promise ourselves to
fulfil a particular duty, it appears to me that this
promise is of the nature of a bond on the soul. It
is an engagement voluntarily entered into, in a fair
and full view of the circumstances; and there is
also a witness, or rather there are witnesses, to the
engagement,-God and our own consciences,-to
whom we are pledged for its fulfilment, and often
under all the solemnities of a religious vow. Habit
or custom may make it seem a light thing to trifle
with such engagements; but in morals it is not a
light thing; in the sight of God it is not a light
thing. Neither human laws nor public opinion
have any thing to do with the making or the
keeping  of  these  solemn  engagements;  it is
enough to know that they will be judged at the
bar of eternal justice, and that any attempt to
evade their strict fulfilment by casuistical distinctions will be regarded like the kindred one in
social morality,- that of attempting to avoid the
payment of an honest debt by a legal quibble.
165 
ON KEEPING THE PROMISES
Apart also from these clear and solemn inculca  tions of conscience and religion, I might appeal to
every man's self-respect, as a motive to fulfil the
promises hlie makes to himself. Is it not an hum  bling and mortifying thought, that we cannot de pend on our own word for our own good?  As
for the promises of others, we expect they will
often fail us. We expect to be often deceived,
cheated, betrayed by other people; but has it
come to this, that we cannot rely on ourselves?
If we could  believe that our infidelity to the
promises we  are now considering grew out of a
real change of opinion as to the wisdom of them,
it would be different.  But it is not so.  When
the drunkard returns to his cups, or the gamester
to his haunts, after having solemnly abjured them
in his own thought, do you suppose, does any body suppose, does he even suppose himself, that
it is because he has altered his mind as to the
ruinous tendency of such conduct?   No! it is
mnere weakness and irresolution; the bondage of
evil habit. With his eyes open to the folly of
his course, and perfectly aware of the promises he
is violating, he returns to practices which he still,
' in his better judgment, condemns and abhors as
much as ever. Who, I ask again, is willing that
this should be said of him, that it should be a faith ful picture of his own life, even though we were
166 
WE MAKE TO OURSELVES.
to leave out of view duty and religion, and look
only to self-respect? Yet it is a faithful picture
of every one's life, who cannot rely on the promises
hlie makes to himself.
Shall we then abstain from making such promises, lest we should incur the guilt and shame of
violating them? There are many, I know, who
contend against all making of promises respecting
the future, on the plea that we ought to do what
we think to be right at the time, taking care to
leave ourselves as much untrammelled on moral
questions as possible.   But this reasoning proceeds on the mistaken notion, that our greatest
danger is either that we shall not know what is
right, or that we shall not do it from the highest
motive. On the contrary, our greatest danger ill
point of fact is, that, though we know what is
right, we shall fail to do it firom any motive;
being turned aside by passion, or some supposed
present interest, or mere indifference or apathy.
Hence it follows that what we most need is, to
fortify beforehand our general purpose to do well,
especially in respect to those dangers and temptations which we have found to have the greatest
power over us.
Behold, then, the occasion and use of the open
pledge and the secret promise! They do not displace a sense of duty, and the fear of God; but
167 
ON KEEPING THE PROMISES
they reenforce these motives, and 6ften give them
the victory.   Having  pledged ourselves before hand  to our own  souls that we will take  and
pursue a certain course, when the moment of
trial arrives we shall feel, in addition to all the
other motives, the mnotive growing out of having
solemnly entered into such an engagement. Frail
and uncertain as this dependence is, it is something; and it is not for beings, weak and tempted
as we are, to reject or to slight any auxiliary to
virtue. Nay, nothing truly great and excellent
can be attained in any profession or calling, unless
a man prescribes to himself a particular line of
conduct, and adheres to it with constancy. Yet
this is to promise himself what he will do; and
having done so, if le has not truthfulness and
stability enough to keep the promise, he is born
to inferiority as certainly and irrevocably as if
it were stamped on his forehead.
Besides, in our present circumstances we cannot refrain altogether from  making promises to
ourselves, even if we try. When we look abroad
on the works of God, and behold them everywhere
marked with the traces of Divine benignity, how
is it possible for us not to promise ourselves to
lead a life of grateful obedience to the Giver of
all good?  When  we  open the  Scriptures and
read there the story of the merits and sacrifices
168 
WE MAKE TO OURSELVES.
of the sinless One, and dwell on his example of
unearthly purity and peace, and are touched by
his redeeming spirit, how is it possible that we
should not promise ourselves to become his disciples,- if not to-day, at least at some future
time?  When we turn our eyes inward on our
own hearts, and see there the ruins of many,
many broken resolutions, and the dark and deep
stains which passion and frivolity, and the world,
and the beginnings of many crimes have left on
our undying souls, how is it possible that we
should not promise ourselves, in our intervals of
serious reflection, that we will turn from evil to
good? It is but the spontaneous and, I had
almost said, irrepressible effort of an awakened
mind to put itself into an attitude to begin obedience to the dictates of reason and conscience, and
the requisitions of a just and holy God. The worst
men need not make themselves worse than they
are; even they have their intervals of serious
reflection. Amidst all its seeming thoughtlessness, amidst all its real degradation, the human
heart still yearns for better things, aspires to
better things, promises itself better things. We
cannot help these  promises, if we  would; we
ought not to try to suppress them, if we could:
but  we  should  concentrate  our  whole  moral
strength on the purpose to keep them.
8
169 
ON KEEPING THE PROMISES
Religion itself is not more exacting of us than
we often are of ourselves. Were we to listen
fow to all the good resolutions we have at any
time formed, all the clear, distinct, and solemn
promises we have made to ourselves, we should
find that nothing is required of us in the gospel,
except to keep our own word. This wonderful
consent and harmony between the Bible and the
aspirations of the human soul in its best moods
is, perhaps, to most minds the strongest, or at
least the most convincing, evidence of the heavenly
origin of both. There is nothing in the warnings
and counsels of God which sounds strange or unfamiliar to our better nature, to the inner man.
"For that which I do, I allow not: for what I
would, that do I not; but what I hate, that do I.
If then I do that which I would not, I consent
unto the law that it is good." There is nothing
which the teachings of Christ, or the example of
holy and devout men, or the exhortations of loving
friends call upon us to do or become, which many
of us have not promised ourselves to do and become a hundred times. Where is our consistency,
where is our self-respect, where is our reverence
for truth, or our fear of God, that we  should
promise and not perform? May that grace, which
alone is sufficient for us, turn our hearts anew to
these promises, and help us to fulfil them! May
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WE MAKE TO OURSELVES.
that mercy which never faileth have pity and forgive, whenever we come short of it, from weakness and frailty, or the sudden and unforeseen
stress of temptation! And, in the judgment of
the last day, may we all find pardon and acceptance, not for our promises  alone, but for our
honest and unremitting endeavor to fulfil them
in life and in death!
1846-1858.
171
0 
JESUS CHRIST MADE
X.
PERFECT THROUGH SUFFERINGS.
"For- it became him, for whom are all things, and by whom are all things,
in bringing many sons unto glory, to make the captain of their salva  tion perfect through sufferings." - HEBREWS ii. 10.
HERE is so much sadness and mystery mingled
in human life, that one is often tempted to
think it well with those with whom it is well over.
If innocence were a shield, if all the suffering in
the world could be clearly seen to be retributive
or corrective, the suffering would remain the same,
it is true; but it would not be so difficult to account
for its being permitted under the divine administration. How can we account for the fact, that Jesus
Christ, the purest and most exalted of the children
of God, "the holy one," should live a life of sor row, and die at last prematurely to all human apprehension, and amidst torture and ignominy?
The declaration in the text will help us to resolve this difficulty in the providence of the All
172
JESUS CHRIST MADE 
PERFECT THROUGH SUFFERINGS.  173
Wise and the All-Good. Jesus suffered, it appears,
that he might be made perfect.
Because a man suffers, it does not follow
necessarily that his sufferings are to be regarded as
a retribution for his sins, or as a means of correcting his sins, or that they are inflicted in consequence of his sins, or even that they imply in
any way that he is, or has been, a sinner.  He may
be a good man already, one of the best of men,
"unspotted from the world;" and yet he may suffer, not that he may be made good, but that he may
be made better, that he may be made perfect.
So it was preeminently with Jesus Christ,
whose sufferings had nothing to do with sin, but
they led to higher degrees of moral and spiritual
excellence and glory. Every trial he underwent
had this design and tendency, to make him perfect;
perfect in himself; perfect in his office as Mediator;
perfect as an example to his followers.  "For it
became Him, for whom are all things, and by whom
are all things, ill bringing many sons unto glory, to
make the captain of their salvation perfect through
sufferings."
The sufferings of Jesus Chlrist were necessary,
in the first place, to makle him perfect in himself
Affliction, it has often been said, is like fire;
what it does not melt, it hardens. If trials and
disappointments do not make a man visibly better, 
JESUS CHRIST MADE
they are apt to make him visibly worse, by making
him reckless, or by inducing a misanthropic temper,
or perhaps a gloomy fatalism. As a general rule,
however, it will not be denied that adversity makes
men more thoughtful and considerate, and gives
them juster views of human life, and quickens their
sense of dependence on a higher Power. Some
qualities especially, which yet are essential to a
perfect character, -such, for example, as patient
endurance, a submissive spirit, and magnanimous
self-devotion, -are only to be acquired and exer cisedcl under the discipline of that stern and rigid
nurse of human virtue.
And, in reasoning on this subject, we must not
suppose that these means were less necessary to
our Saviour than to others, for the full development
of his mind and soul.  Whatever views may be
entertained of his relationship to the Divinity, all
Christians agree that he had a human character;
and this character was formed like that of his
followers, gradually, by adding excellence to ex cellence, as circumstances or the occasion drew it
forth. That our Lord differed from all others in
being "without sin" from  the beginning is ademitted;  but to confound mere  sinlessness with
absolute perfection, to suppose he was perfect
from the beginning in the same sense in which he
actually became so afterwards, would be to con
174 
PERFECT THROUGH SUFFERINGS.  175
tradict the express teachings of the Evangelists,
who represent his piety and virtue as a gradual
acquisition.  "The child," they say, "grew and
waxed strong in spirit, filled with wisdom; and the
grace of God w,as upon him."  And again, "Jesus
increased in wisdom and stature, and 4n favor with
God and man."  So much then is certain.  If the
Bible is to be believed, his character was formed
gradually, like that of any other person; and depended, as we must presume, in the same sense,
though not perhaps in the same degree, on discipline, and cultivation, and external influences.
At any rate, his character appeared as occasion
called it forth.  Hence it follows, that if the discipline of adversity is necessary, as we have seen,
to the perfect unfolding, of the spiritual nature of
"such as are saved," it was equally so to the perfect unfolding of the spiritual nature of him who
is every where set forward as "the captain of their
salvation."
In reading the accounts which the sacred writers
give us of the life of our Lord, I think we can
perceive the effect which his sufferings had on his
character in making him more and more an object
of veneration and holy trust. His first public acts
were sometimes marked with a sternness and
severity, and he sometimes expresses himself with
an indignation, which we do not find amidst that 
JESUS CHRIST MADE
subdued and serene submission and benignity
which throw such a melancholy interest and
grandeur around the closing scenes of his earthly
labors and trials. Compare his conduct at the
opening  of his public  ministry, when  with a
scourge of small cords he drove out the money
changers and other traffickers who had intruded
themselves into the precincts of the temple; and
the manner  vwhen, at least in one instance, lie
turned round "in anger" to rebuke the obduracy
of his countrymen; and' also the woe upon woe
which through a whole chapter he thundered on
their vices and their hypocrisy,- comipare, I say,
his conduct in these instances with his conduct afterwards; with the tears he shed over.the devoted
city; with his last and most affecting interview
with his disciples; with the manner in which he
received the kiss of Judas, though he knew it was
to betray him, and in which he bore himself at his
trial, amidst the insults and mockery of his judges
and the soldiery; above all, with his prayer on the
cross, "Father, forgive them, for they know  not
what they do." By studying the character of
Jesus Christ under this single point of view, we
shall see, I think, that it underwent a gradual
change, and became more tender, more unearthly,
more godlike under the afflictions he endured.
Many qualities in his character which command
176 
PERFECT THIROUGH SUFFERINGS. 177
our highest admiration, our deepest reverence,
would have had no opportunity for exertion or
manifestation, perhaps would not have existed,
but for the sufferings which called them forth.
Besides, the constancy and moral sublimity,
which our Lord could only have evinced under the
severest trials, supply us with one of the strongest
internal evidences of his miraculous character and
the divinity of his mission. I am aware that the
cross of Christ, notwithstanding the more than
human magnanimity with which it was borne,
created many doubts and difficulties even in the
honest minds amongst his contemporaries; for they
reasoned that, if he had really been the Son of
God, God would not have given him over to such
humiliation. But it was because they had associated with the expected Messiah the vulgar notions of greatness, and could not conceive of one
as great who was not surrounded with the usual
circumstances of greatness; the pomp and blazonry
cf earthly power and renown.   With us, however,
it is different. We know that the only true greatness is greatness of soul; and that the circumstances, whatever they may be, which have the
effect to display the highest degree of this greatness, are those which vindicate a man's claim to
real superiority. Let history tell of her hero who
in the day of his triumph bestrode the world like
8*                 L
8*
L. 
JESUS CHRIST MADE
a colossus, and was worshipped as a god; but
when a reverse came on his fortunes, and he was
hurled from the eminence he had occupied, where
then was his glory, or the qualities by which it had
been won? If Jesus Christ had merely been a
successful adventurer, or a mighty conqueror,another Solomon, or another Judas Maccaboeus;
another Alexander  or Caesar,-his ascendancy
might easily be accounted for by natural causes.
But whllen we look on him as an obscure Galilean,
educated in all the prejudices of his country, unsustained by any of the excitements or illusions
which do so much to bolster up the vulgar great;
betrayed and forsaken by the few he had counted
on as friends; left alone, absolutely alone, to watch
the gathering of that black and portentous cloud
which was soon to break in thunder on his naked
head; and yet with a soul unshaken, unappalled,
-well, indeed, may we exclaim with the Roman
centurion, who witnessed his last sufferings,
"Truly this was the Son of God!"  Jesus Christ
might have been great, as other men have been
great, and it would have proved nothing; but the
circumstances of extreme trial in which he was
placed afforded him an opportunity for displaying
a greatness to which there is no parallel; a greatness not more remarkable for its degree than for
its entire originality.  Every mind  capable  of
178 
PERFECT THROUGH SUFFERINGS.  179
profound thought will appreciate this argument for
Christianity; because the entire originality of our
Saviour's character makes it as much  a miracle
that the Evangelists, with all their prejudices,
should have drawn it from the imagination, as that
the character itself should have really existed for
them to describe.
Again, the sufferings of Jesus were necessary in
his character of Mediator, to be as a ground of mutual sympathy between him and his followers.
One of the principal reasons which make the
idea of a Mediator so grateful to the human heart
is, that with our frail and imperfect natures we
can feel no proper sympathy with the mysterious
and awful Power, the Iilfinite One, we wish to
propitiate. Hence the deep and inextinguishable
longing of humble and devout minds for some one
of a like nature, between whom and us there can
be something like a fellow-feeling, on whom our
religious affections may repose, and who will intercede for us before the throne of that incomprehensible  Being, to us unapproachable  even  in
thought.   The great purpose and benefit of a
Mediator would be compromised and lost, if lihe
were not a Mediator who could be touched, and
who had been really touched, by a sense of our
infirmities. Wherefore, to borrow the words of
the apostle, "In all things it behoved him to be 
JESUS CHRIST MA4DE
made like unto his brethren, so that as he him self hath suffered, being tempted, he is able to
succor them that are tempted."
It is also this mutual sympathy, a sympathy
growing out of a consciousness of common trials
and sufferings, which gives to the example of our
Lord almost all its applicability to human con duct.  If he had been made in the nature of
angels, if "in all things" he had not been made
like unto his brethren, to be tried as they are tried,
and to suffer as they suffer, we might be told what
he did, but it would not follow that it was possible
for us to do the same, or even that it was proper
for us to aspire to do the same. If Jesus Christ
were a superior being, he might be an example
to superior beings like himself, but he would not
be an example to men. The very idea of an ex ample supposes not only that we ought to imitate
it, but that we can imitate it; and, of course, that
we possess in general the same powers and capaci ties with the person by whom it is set. If Jesus
Christ were a superior being above all human
sympathy, his very virtues would no more be an
example to us in any proper sense of that word,
than the flight of an eagle or the strength of an
elephant is an example to us. The whole force
and pertinency of the example of Jesus consists
in supposing, that he was a sharer with us in the
180 
PERFECT THROUGH SUb'FERINGS.   181
same dangers and sorrows, that he was tried as
we are tried, that he suffered as we suffer, that
he triumphed as we might triumph. Unless we
begin by assuming this, his virtues, much as we
may admire them, are no more an example to us
than his miracles.
Add to this, that the sufferings of Jesus have
given a peculiar cast to his religion, and fitted it
permanently to become a religion of consolation.
Go to the various religions of paganism, if you
want a religion to fill and captivate the imagination with the fictions of a beautiful mythology.
Go to the religion of Mohammed, if you want a
religion merely to stir the blood of warriors and
voluptuaries. Go to the religion of a Socrates or
a Seneca, if you merely want a religion for sages
and philosophers, in which to bewilder themselves
in subtle and  endless speculation.   But if you
want a religion to assuage human woe, and wipe
away the starting tear, and light up even the
darkness of the tomb with a light from heaven,
go to that which was dispensed by one who was
himself a man  of sorrows  and acquainted with
grief.
It is to this circumstance, I suppose, that we
owe that vein of tender melancholy running
through all his discourses, and his propensity
to dwell on those topics which are most grateful
;ll 17~! 
JESUS CHRIST MIADE
to a bruised spirit, and also the fondness with
which those who  have neglected his religion in
prosperity often turn to it, and cling to it, in the
dark hour of peril or bereavement. Again, we
submit more readily to be advised and consoled
by one who has felt the same or a similar distress, because we know that he can enter fully
into all our feelings, and  will make allowance
for the infirmities of which he has been painfully
conscious in his own person; and because he has
a peculiar right to insist on a submission and constancy'which he has himself so signally displayed.
It is to the suffering Jesus much more thani to the
triumphant Jesus, to his cross much more than to
his crown, that the bowed spirit of an afflicted race
turns with hope and trust.
What, then, is the practical use of these
observations?
They teach us, in  the  first place, that we
ought never to question or doubt the justice or
benignity                                          of the Supreme Disposer in permitting
the sufferings which Jesus endured. These sufferincrs, we have seen, were necessary to carry out
the great purposes of his mission; and of course
t       h        e same wisdom and mercy           which prompted the
mission sanctioned also the means by which alone
it could be made effectual. On the part of our
Saviour himself, too, the same pure and expan
11 Tj
182 
PERFECT THROUGH SUFFERINGS.  183
sive benevolence, which led him to assume his high
and responsible office, made him willing also meekly
to acquiesce in the sacrifices it required.
Let us rather learn, from the sufferings of Jesus,
the meekness and constancy with which the chastisemenits of God are to be borne by all. We
greatly err, if we imagine that our Lord's pain and
misery were in any sense less real or less exquisite
than the pain and misery of others, or that he had
supports other than those which are open to us,an approving mind, and reliance on the Divinity.
The same angel which was sent to strengthen him
is sent to strengthen us, if we ask for it aright.
Having therefore the same consolations and supports, let it be our constant endeavor to bear the
ills and sorrows of life with the same composure
and dignity, and the same entire acquiescence in
the will of the Supreme. After considering the
sufferings of Jesus, we certainly cannot think it
a strange thing that we also should be afflicted;
rather let us remember that, if we suffer with
Jesus, we shall also reign with him. And is it
too much to expect from the afflicted, even while
the hand of God is heavy upon them, to feel that
the'sufferings of this life are not worthy to be
compared with the glory to be revealed in those
who continue faithful to the end?
Let us then reflect often on the sufferings of
Ill 
184 CHRIST PERFECT THROUGH SUFFERINGS.
Jesus, and ponder them well; and especially when
in the presence, as now, of the symbols intended
to commemorate these sufferings, and the uidying
love with which they were borne, and of which
they tell. We should do so that it may increase
our faith, and fill us with gratitude towards him
who is the resurrection and the life. Above all,
we should do it that we may catch something of
that spirit of constancy and self-devotion, which
could say, "Father, not as I will, but as thou
wilt;" "Father, into thy hands I commend my
spirit." " For consider him that endured such
contradiction of sinners against himself, lest ye
be wearied and faint in your minds.   Have ye
forgotten the exhortation which speaketh unto
you as unto children, My son, despise not thou
the chastening of the Lord, nor faint when thou
art rebuked of him; for whom the Lord loveth he
chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he
receiveth."
1828-1860.
I p?! 
HE KNEW WHAT WAS IN MAN.
XI.
HE KNEW WHAT WAS IN MAN.
"For he knew what was in man." -JOHN ii. 25.
HERE  are two kinds of knowledge which are
often confounded together: a knowledge of
the world, and a knowledge of human nature; a
knowledge of men as they are, and a knowledge
of men as they might be; a knowledge of what
man has put forth, and a knowledge of what is in
man, to be put forth if he would.
Knowledge of the world, or of men as they are,
supposes one to be conversant with affairs, with
the shifts and turns of fortune, and with the
various humors of men.   It can hardly be acquired in much perfection except by large and
frequent commerce with society, by mixing with
all sorts of people in all sorts of ways. This kind
of iZnowledge, if possessed in an eminent degree,
fits one to get on in the world. It makes what is
called a good business man, and is more essential, perhaps, than any other quality to success in
I    _P
185 
HE KNEW WHAT WAS IN MAN.
public life. It is also important to some forms
of literary success. A writer or speaker, to be
immediately and generally popular, must be
thoroughly imbued with the prevailing opinions
and sentiments, and not much in advance of
them; -a little in advance  of them, perhaps,
that he may be looked up to as an authority;
but not much in advance of them, lest he should
lose the public sympathy, or fail to be understood.
Even the popular statesman differs from others
chiefly in this, that he can see what the multitude are going to think and do a little sooner
than they can themselves; and thus is often in a
condition to take ground a little in advance of
the public opinion of to-day, in the assurance
that it will be sustained by the public opinion
of to-morrow.
But this knowledge of the world, or of men as
they are, however important and necessary, is
often found to exist in great perfection in persons who have but little knowledge of human
nature properly so called; that is to say, of what
is in man, to be put forth if he would,- of what
is latent in man. And, as they have but little
- knowledge of it, they commonly have but little
faith in it.
Jesus Christ, "in whom were hid all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge," "knew all men,
I?l
186 
HE KNEW WHAT WAS IN MAN.
and needed not that any should testify of man,
for he knew what was in man." He knew at the
same time what was in the world, and what was
in human nature; man as he was, and man as he
might be.
His knowledge of the world, of the ways of
men, of mienii as they are, appeared in all his
intercourse with the men of his day, -penetrating
at a glance the half-formed purpose or thought
of firiend or foe. Though surrounded from the
beginning by powerful and subtle enemies who
were continually plotting his destruction, he was
never, in a single instance, taken by surprise.
Even when he went up to Jerusalem for the last
time, he knew what awaited him there; he went
up because his time had come. And this knowledge was necessary.  In much of his conduct, and
to a certain extent even in his mode of teaching,
and in his teaching itself, it was necessary that he
should understand and adapt himself to the ways
of the world around him, to the habits and prejudices of the people with whom he had to deal.
But a more difficult and more profound knowledge than this was also required to fit him to
become the Great Teacher; a teacher not of the
Jews alone, but of all mankind; not of one age
only, but all ages. To fulfil his high mission as
the Divine Word to man, it was necessary that he
187
11?! 
HE KNEW WHAT WAS IN MAN.
should know what is in man, and all that is in
man, though much of it had never before found
adequate utterance; nay, had never before been
revealed to the consciousness of any living being.
He knew what was ill man; as well what had not
been put forth, as what had been put forth. He
addressed himself not merely to the men he saw
around him, to the actual man, but also to the
possible man. He knew the immeasurable capaci ties and resources which were latent in man. And
this it was which qualified him to legislate for all
nations and all ages. Hence also it is, that, so
long as man continues to be man, his religion will
continue to meet the wants and be adapted to
the condition of man. It will never become obsolete; it will never grow old: it will be "the same
yesterday, to-day, and for ever."
That our Lord " knew what was in man" appears, first, in the doctrines which he taught; and,
secondly, in the means by which he would have
them established and propagated in the world.
In the first place, look at the doctrines which
he taught.  And here I speak, as my text actually
leads me to do, of the doctrines which he taught
respecting man.   The doctrines respecting man,
which may be said to be in some sense original
with Christ and peculiar to him, are these three:
First, that duty in man consists not in an outward
188
III ~I  
BE KNEW WHAT WAS IN MAN.
conformity to prescribed rules, but in an inward
and strict fidelity to great principles. Secondly,
that true greatness in man consists not in wealth
or station, nor even in intellectual gifts, but in
public service and in dignity and elevation of soul.
And lastly, that the secret of the highest form of
influence over man is found, not by acting on his
self-love or his fears, but by overcoming evil with
good.
No doubt the narrow and worldly-minded Jews,
when they first listened to inculcations like these,
were tempted to regard them as the extravagances
of a young and inexperienced reformer who did
not know what he was about. But it was by falling into the error mentioned above; it was by mistaking a knowledge of what is in the world for a
knowledge of what is in human  nature.   The
great prophet of the new dispensation was able to
see through, at a glance, the sevenfold disguises of
worldly prejudice and worldly habit. Underneath
all this he saw what was in man; he saw there the
elements of a new obedience, the elements of a
higher form of moral, social, and spiritual life,
which the ancient civilizations, whether Jewish or
pagon, had not awakened or recognized, but which
it was his mission to appeal to and call forth.
Take, for example, the first of the doctrines
above mentioned; namely, that duty consists not in
189
0 
190   HE KNEW WHAT WAS IN MAN.
an outward conformity to prescribed rules, but in
faithfulness to great principles.  We question not
the wisdom or the necessity of governing the childhood of the world, as children are governed now,
i)y outward rules arbitrarily imposed and blindly
followed. And no evil is likely to ensue in such
cases; for the same authority that imposes the
rule can modify it, from time to time, to suit the
exigency; and the modification will be accepted
with the same trustful and blind acquiescence as
the rule itself. But as society advances, and the
human mind is unfolded more and more, man gradually passes from this state of pupilage, making it
necessary that he should be governed in another
manner. He is now able to understand not only
the rule, but the reason or principle of the rule;
and hence becomes responsible not merely for his
obedience to this or that received rule, but also in
some sense for the soundness of the rule itself, or
at least for its right application in particular instances. In one word, he is no longer under a
schoolmaster as in the primitive times, but under
Christ, who has said, " Henceforth I call you not
servants, for the servant knoweth not what his
lord doeth; but I have called you friends, for all
things that I have heard of my Father I have made
known to you."
Compare the decalogue, which constitutes the 
HE KNEW WHAT WAS IN MAN.
basis of the morality of the Old Testament, with
the beatitudes which constitute the basis of the
morality of the New; and you will readily understand what I mean by the distinction between a
morality of dead rules and a morality of living
principles.  "Blessed are the merciful;" "blessed
are the peace-makers;" " blessed are the pure in
heart." Here no unbending formula is prescribed.
We are not commanded to do this or that particular
thing,- to force through, for instance, a particular
measure without regard to circumstances or consequences; but the disposition, the inward principle, is indicated from which we are always to act;
the way, the means, being left to be determined by
an enlightened Christian conscience in view of all
the circumstances and foreseen consequences of the
act.  It is a law, but it is a "law of liberty."  We
are not treated as slaves, nor yet as children, but
as the Lord's freemen. The spirit, the reason, the
principle of the law is given, and it is left for us
to consider, under the light of the gospel, and
under a solemn sense of our responsibility to God,
in what way this principle can best be carried into
effect in the condition in which we are placed.
And the excellency of this wisdom consists herein:
as the reason of the law is better understood, as
the principle of the law unfolds itself in the individual and in society more and more, its form
191 
BE KNEW WHAT WAS IN MAN.
rises to meet it, becomes clothed with a higher significance; and thus, as I have said before, never
becomes obsolete, but renews itself, and reaffirms
itself at every step of human progress.
The same is also true of the second Christian
doctrine, above mentioned; namely, that greatness
consists not in wealth or station, nor yet in intellectual superiority, but in public service, and in
dignity and elevation of soul. We must expect
that a man will be called great in any community
according as he excels in those particular qualities
which are held there in the highest account.
Hence, among savages the great man is a man of
gigantic strength and stature; among a warlike people the great warrior is the great man; in proportion as the civic virtues come to be appreciated and
honored, the great statesman begins to be looked
up to as a great man; if intellect is the standard,
the great thinker; if usefulness and integrity,the public benefactor, the moral hero. Thus we
see that, as civilization advances, human greatness
is determined by a continually ascending scale;
and what I wish to impress upon you here is, that
Christianity began by taking this scale at the
highest.
Thus, when a strife arose among the Twelve
which of them should be accounted greatest, Jesus
said: "The kings of the gentiles exercise lordship
192 
HE KNEW WHAT WAS IN MAN.
over them, and they that exercise authority upon
them  are called benefactors.   Let it not be so
with you; but he that is greatest among you, let
him be as the younger, and he that is chief as he that
doth serve." He who spoke thus must have known
not only what mankind had become, but what they
were capable of becoming; and also by what means
they were to be led on. He knew that the first
thing to be done was to hold up before them the
idea of true greatness. The idea, the conception,
must go before the reality. For, while the light
shone in darkness, and the darkness comprehended
it not.   But the darkness never entirely extinguished the Christian idea of true greatness.
Nothing is more remarkable of what are called
by way of distinction the Dark Ages, than the inconsistency, the contradiction, between what the
Christians of that time really were and what in
moments of high spiritual exaltation they aspired
to be; in one word, between the moral practice and
the moral thought in that benighted period of the
Christian world. By means of the Scriptures, sacred hymns, and the symbols of the Church, the
idea of what God required still lived. Over the
confusion and license and ferocity which prevailed,
there still hovered a conception of the true Christian life, to command the respect and win the love of
all, and slowly and silently to draw all men unto it.
193
9
x 
194   HE KNEW WHAT WAS IN MAN.
Again, the third and last of the above-mentioned
Christian doctrines- namely, that the secret of the
highest form of influence over inan is found, not in
interest or fear, but in self-devotion and love, in
overcoming evil with good - is equally in accordance
with a profound knowledge of what is in man. In
taking this stand we do not shut our eyes on the
many weaknesses, follies, and extravagances which
have been and still are recommended and practised
under fanatical notions of devotion and self-sacrifice. Nevertheless we must not abandon an
important and sound principle from disgusts occasioned by the misunderstandings or exaggerations to which it has sometimes led, or by the
ill-repute into which the principle itself has sometimes fallen in consequence. It is still true that
love has more power over man, to induce real and
lasting change, than either hope or fear. I have
no doubt that Christianity has done much good
through its distinct and authoritative annunciation
of a future life; but it is a mistake to suppose that
this is the sole, or the chief, secret of its influence.
Its peculiar and distinctive excellence and power
do not grow out of its being a new revelation of
God's omnipotence, nor yet of his justice, but of
his love. Its doctrine is, "God is love; and he
that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God
in him."  " Titerefore, if thine enemy hunger, feed 
HE KNEW WHAT WAS IN MAN.
him; if he thirst, give him drink: for in so doing
thou shalt heap coals of fire on his head. Be not
overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good."
Strange that the professed followers of Jesus
should be so slow to find out what is so clearly
laid down as being at the bottom of all genuine
Christian influence. But they are beginning to
find it out at last, and to reap the fruit of the discovery, in the wonderful success attending those
attempts to reclaim the erring and lift up the
fallen, where men trust wholly to the accents of
human sympathy, speaking in the name of him
who loved us and gave himself for us. Moral
miracles might still be wrought, if men would only
have faith in that ever open and ever flowing
source of Divine power.  "For I am persuaded,
that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor
things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any
other creature, shall be able to separate us firom
the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our
Lord."
Finally, that our Lord "knew what was in man
appears not only in his doctrines, but also in the
means by which he would have them established
and propagated in the world.
The history of Christianity, read by one who
mistakes a knowledge of the world for a knowledge
195 
196    HE KNEW WHAT WAS IN MAN.
of human nature, presents an inexplicable enigma.
Go back to the day of the crucifixion; follow the
feeble and fainting steps of the Victim as he passes
through the streets of Jerusalem on his way to
Calvary; witness the scene of torture and ignominiy which followed. Is this the King that was
promised? Is this his coronation? All experience,
all history, all our affections answer, "It is."  To
a suffering and not to a triumphant Christ the
thoughts of a tempted, perplexed, and sorrowing
race instinctively turn. It is the memory of that
love which was stronger than death, mingled with
the consciousness that the sacrifice had become
necessary to our reconciliation with God, that has
enthroned the Crucified One for ever in the heart
of man.  What is there in mere worldly greatness
to be followed by results like these? What care
we at this day for Herod the Great, or Alexander
the Great?  It is one of the eternal laws of nat ure, that every thing which is personal and selfish
perishes; that only which contributes to the spread
of light, and the progress of truth and virtue,
endures.
There are three ways in which a religion can be
established and propagated; -by force, by author ity, or by individual conviction and heart-felt love.
The first two are ever likely to recommend them selves to those who mistake a knowledge of the 
HE KNEW WHAT WAS IN MAN. 
world for a knowledge of human nature, because
the outward success attending them is more
immediate and more apparent. Thus we see
Mohammed and his successors, the scimitar in one
hand and the Koran in the other, with the stern
and brief argument, "Believe or die!" But is
this the way to win souls?  Again, after the great
Christian apostasy, the Church opposed and exalted
itself above all that is called God, or that is worshipped; and began to claim for human authority
what is only due to the Divine. Men were called
upon to consent to be blindly led. Was this the
way to bring about an inward and moral change?
The only righteousness which the gospel accepts,
or knows, is the righteousness that is by faith, the
righteousness that has its root in personal conviction, the righteousness that proceeds, not from a
blind and slavish assent to what is said to be
true, but from a knowledge, acceptance, and love
of what is felt to be true.
Thus it is that real Christianity has spread.
Hence also, I may add, the explanation, at least
in part, of a difficulty which troubles many minds.
I mean the fact that the progress of real Christianity has been so slow, and that so much still
remains to be done before its triumph is complete.
Christianity is not a mere development of human
nature; it is a divine element communicated to
197 
198   HE KNEW WHAT WAS IN MAN.
that nature, by which the nature itself is to be
renewed and transfigured. It is not the nature
itself, but is intended to act on it; still its action
must be in accordance with the laws of that nature, and also in proportion as the nature itself is
developed in obedience to those laws. The divine
seed is planted; the result is to be not a mechanical displacing of the parts, but a living growth;
and growth requires time.   Therefore it is that
God waits; therefore it is that the Saviour waits;
and we also must labor and wait, until the tree
takes deep root, until it sends out its boughs unto
the sea, and its branches unto the river, and fills
the whole earth.
We have now seen how entirely and profoundly
the gospel is adjusted to human nature, both in
its moral teachings and in the manner of its action
and success. Two general remarks must sum up
what we have to add by way of application.
In the first place, we find in the doctrine of this
discourse a striking confirmation of the divine
origin of Christianity. We have shown that its
Founder understood human nature better than
any philosopher of antiquity, and knew how to
mould this nature to his purposes better than any
lawgiver or statesman of antiquity. The question
is therefore forced upon us: "Whence hath this
man all this wisdom?" It is idle to talk about 
HE KNEW WHAT WAS IN MAN.
training and discipline; for he had neither: and,
besides, any instruction he might have received
in this way would only have had the effect to
give his mind a more decidedly Jewish or Oriental bent, and so have been fatal to that breadth
and universality of view on which, as I have said,
his chief distinction and glory depend. Neither
is it to any purpose to say, that we have no measures by which to determine beforehand what unassisted genius can do. I grant this, but with one
important and necessary qualification. We must
confine the remark to what properly pertains to
genius; to poetry for example, to some of the
forms of eloquence, or at most to native sagacity;
but this makes it inapplicable in the present case.
For we find here what we are accustomed to expect only as the result, not of genius, but of profound study, and wide and various observation.
True, we have no means of ascertaining precisely
how far the unassisted forces of the humaln mindcl
might enable an individual to go in any direction.
For example; if the attention of a savage were
accidentally turned to the study of the heavens,
we cannot tell precisely how far he would be
competent to master the rudiments of astronomy.
But one thing is certain; he never would be able
to produce such a work as the "Principia" of
Newton. Yet even this would feebly represent the
199 
HE KNEW WHAT WAS IN MAN.
marvel to be explained, when we are told that a
Galilean peasant not only undertook to legislate
for the conduct of all ages and countries, but succeeded so well as to leave not a single error to be
corrected, and not a single defect to be supplied.
Finally, if Christianity is so nicely adjusted to
human nature as has been shown, it follows that
whoever puts himself in contradiction to it, puts
himself in contradiction to his own nature. You
blame the drunkard, not only because he has violated the laws of his country and the laws of God,
but because he has violated the laws of his own
physical nature. Now we all have a moral and
spiritual nature to consult and provide for as
well, dependent also on our observing its eternal and unalterable laws; which laws it is the
mission of the gospel, as we have seen, to inculcate and enforce. If this be so, then whoever
disowns or neglects the gospel, disowns and neglects his own proper nature; refuses to accept
that peace of soul to which he might aspire, by refusing to submit to the conditions on which alone
that peace can be built. All that the gospel requires of us is, that we should be true to our own
nature; but in order to be so we must accept those
principles which alone are able to reach, arouse,
and call forth the inmost elements of that nature,
-elements, however, which are essential to the
200 
iHE KNEW WHlAT WAS IN MA. N.
highest form of the soul's life. The perfect Christian is neither more nor less than the perfect man.
Hence the language of Divine Wisdom is ever the
same: "Whoso findeth me findeth life, and shall
obtain favor of the Lord. But he that sinneth
against me wrongeth his own soul: all that hate
me love death."
1850-1856.
9'
201
a 
SPIRITUAL DISCERNMENT.
XII.
SPIRITUAL DISCERNMENT.
"But the natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of Cod;
for they are foolishness unto him: neither can he know them, because
they are spiritually discerned." - 1 CORINTHIANS ii. 14.
Y what means and faculties can man become
acquainted with the realities of the spiritual
life and the spiritual world, and know them, and
be affected by them, as realities? We learn from
the text that "the natural man receiveth not the
things of the Spirit of God; for they are foolishness unto him: neither can he know them, because
they are spiritually discerned." But what is this
spiritual discernment?  Why is "the natural man"
incapable of it?  What  are the changes he must
undergo, in order to become capable of it?
These are the questions which I now propose to
take up, and, if possible, to resolve; and this, too,
on the basis of a general doctrine, which is at once
rational, and Scriptural, and eminently practical.
The general doctrine to which I refer is, that
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SPIRITUAL DISCERNMENT.
every kind of knowledge supposes a mind prepared to receive it, and this preparation of mind
may be regarded as the appropriate and indispensable condition of such knowledge.
Let me illustrate what I mean, at considerable
length, beginning with  the  simplest  and most
elementary kind of knowledge, that which we
obtain by means of the senses, - external pereception.  As all knowledge begins here, it might be
presumed that it requires no preparation; in other
words, that what one man can see, all can see,
that what one man can hear, all can hear. But
it is far otherwise. A large proportion of what
we know by external perception, we know by
what is called acquired perception; so much so,
that, if a man were now  created with  all his
senses in their entire physical development, they
would be at first of but little or no service to
him as knowing faculties. He would still have
to learn how to see, how to hear, and even how
to feel, in order to distinguish and know; and his
capacity to distinguish and know in this way
would be in proportion as his senses were educated up to it. How much more a blind man can
distiilguish and know by hearing alone than other
men! How much more an artist can see in a
picture or landscape than the unpractised and
unskilful eye! It is not that the senses them
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SPIRITUAL DISCERNMENT.
selves are different, or more perfectly developed;
but because the mind, through changes which it
has itself undergone, is able to recognize, in what
is manifested to the senses, a new significance.
So likewise in respect to that form of knowledge
which goes under the name of common sense, as if
it were conmmon to all men, and the same in all.
But here, too, in point of fact, it is far otherwise.
Common sense, in the usual acceptation of that
term, comprehends two elements: first, the primitive judgments of the human mind, for which, as
the name denotes, the mind can have no other
evidence except that which it finds in itself; and,
secondly, such generally received deductions from
experience as have taken the form of maxims, and
in this form are adopted and transmitted without
question as the common heritage. Now even in
respect to the primitive judgments, considered as
actual knowledge, we cannot say that they are
either common to all, or the same in all; for we
must make a distinction between principles of
knowledge and a knowledge of these principles.
Because there are truths which the mind knows
at once, when it is sufficiently developed to know
them at all, it does not follow that every mind is
sufficiently developed (for example, in infancy or
in extreme barbarism) to know them at all. And
this is still more obvious as regards the other ele
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SPIRITUAL DISCERNMENT.
ment of common sense, the maxims deduced from
experience.   Evidently there was  a time when
these maxims were in process of formation, and
when of course they had not as yet been incorporated into the common sense of any people.
Hence we are not surprised to find that the common  sense of savages is a very different thing
from the common sense of civilized men; and,
furthermore, that it is essentially modified by the
kind of civilization which prevails.  For example,
the common sense of the Chinese is not the same
with that of the English or the French.
This, then, is our conclusion even in respect to
the earliest and simplest steps in human intelligence: they all depend on a previous preparation
of mind; this previous preparation of mind being
an indispensable condition of the knowledge,wanting which, the knowledge fails.
The general doctrine gains ill clearness and impressiveness when applied to the more advanced
and complicated efforts of science and the arts.
In the infancy of society, in the early stages of
human progress, the steps were short and simple,
consisting for the most part of a single thought
turned  to some single and special putrpose; these,
therefore, might have been suggested to one,
almost as well as to another, if placed in like
favorable circumstances. But it is far otherwise
205 
SPIRITUAL DISCERNMENT.
now.  At the present day we  may discover or
invent things over again; but, to take a step
really in advance, we must begin by mastering
what has been done before by the best miinds in
the same field of inquiry: and this, too, not
merely that we may be in a condition to solve
the new problem, but that we may be in a condition even so much as to accost it, or comprehend it.  I know how common it is to refer some
of the most important discoveries and inventions
even in modern times to casual events, to a hint
dropped unawares, to a transient glimpse vouchsafed the favored aspirant; as if the whole depended on accident, or at best on a kind of
inspiration, which as it happens to one might
happen to all. But no such thing. It was not
the swinging of a lamp in the cathedral of Pisa,
nor the falling of all apple ill the garden at
Woolsthorpe, but the fact that the first was
observed by a Galileo, and the second by a
Newton, which has made them so fruitful of
consequences  in  the  history of science.   The
hint is nothing, except to those who are in a condition to take it and unfold it.  Accident may
do a little towards determining the time when,
and the place where of a great discovery, but
the discovery itself must come from the mind of
the discoverer; that is to say, from the fact that
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SPIRITUAL DISCERNMENT.
his mind has been previously educated up to a
level with the problem to be solved.
Thus far I have spoken of acts of the pure
intellect; but the illustrations of the doctrine
most in point are drawn from those acts of the
intellect which are blended with feeling; as in
matters of taste and conscience. Here a twofold
preparation is necessary, a preparation of the head
and the heart: we must know in order to feel, and
we must feel in order to know; which requires that
we should be in a condition to do both.
Take, for example, aesthetic sentiment, or what
is sometimes called taste, meaning thereby the
faculty to know and appreciate what is sublime
or beautiful in Nature and art. I do not deny
that the germs of this faculty are innate, or that,
in various proportions, they are common to all
men, making part of what constitutes the essential distinction between the human and the animal
mind even in its undeveloped state. Still it is only
in proportion as the faculty itself is developed in
the human mind, either by growth, or experience,
or culture, that it can be expected to manifest
itself in the life of the individual. An undeveloped faculty is not a faculty in use, but only in
prospect, the possibility of a faculty: it does not
speak of what a man can do as he is, but only
of what he might be made capable of doing.
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SPIRITUAL DISCERNMENT.
Hence there is no inconsistency in saying that
man may have so little of his proper humanity
developed, as to be almost as incapable of ap preciating the works of Raphael or Mendelssohn
as the inferior anilnals.   Like them, as regards
what is sublime or beautiful in such works, see ing he would see, but not perceive; and hearing
he would hear, but not understand.
And here it is to no purpose to object, that the
simnpler forms of beauty, a simple air in music, for
instance, is understood by one as well as by an other.   For, in the first place, this is true in
respect  to  those  communities  only which  are
more or less advanced in civilization; andcl be sides, even where it is true, the doctrine resolves
itself, after all, into a question of degrees merely.
It shows, what indeed might have been taken for
granted, that less culture is necessary in order to
understand  and  enjoy simple  forms of beauty
than such as are complicated and refined; and,
furthermore, that this degree of culture needs not
be above that which is commnon or universal in a
particular community.  But because this degree
of culture happens to be common or universal in
a particular community, it does not follow that it
ceases to be culture; so that the objection falls
to the ground.  It is still just as true as it was
before, that some degcree of culture is inldispen
208 
SPIRITUAL DISCERNMLENT.
sable to the knowledge and appreciation of what
is beautiful in nature or art.
The same is also true of conscience or the moral
sense. There can be no doubt that man is constituted a moral being: that is to say, his moral
judgments and feelings are not a factitious or accidental creation, the work of government, or education, or self-interest. Though stimulated and
unfolded by influences from without, it is always
in accordance with an innate and internal lawa law of his own nature.   This law may be said
to be " written in his heart; " so that, failing all
other law, he would become " a law unto himself."
But this law takes effect in the case of this or that
individual in so far only as his moral nature, which
determines it, is developed; and his moral nature,
like his physical or intellectual nature, is developed
gradually, step by step.  Thus is laid a foundation
for the possibility and the necessity of moral progress in individuals, and in whole communities.
It is not merely or mainly that men should become
more conscientious, mueaniing thereby more observant
of what conscience dictates; but conscience itself
must become more tender, more enlightened, more
discrihinating: it must dictate a higher and purer
morality. We are wont to speak of our Puritan
ancestors as eminently conscientious; and so they
were.  With all their errors in doctrine, and all
209 
SPIRITUAL DISCERNMENT.
their faults in manner and temper, they were
probably more strictly conscientious- that is, lived
more strictly according to their convictions of duty
-than any other people who can be named. Nevertheless they could countenance not only slavery
as an existing institution, which is done by many
good men now, but the slave trade; nay, some of
the best of them scrupled not to engage, directly
or indirectly, in that nefarious traffic. And the
reason is obvious. They did not and they could
not see such conduct in the moral light in which
we see it; partly because this particular subject
had not as yet been cleared up, as it has been
since, by discussion; and partly because their general conception of human rights was less just and
comprehensive then than that which prevails at
the present day: to which must be added what
has been gained to public  sentiment from the
humanizing influence of a progressive Christian
civilization.
Let me not be misunderstood. I neither say nor
mean, that the notion of right in itself, of right as
such, differs in different places, at different times,
with different men. Men do not differ as to the
regard which is due to right, as right.  All menthat is, all men whose moral nature has begun to
be developed ever so imperfectly- agree in this,
that they ought to do what is right. But they
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SPIRITUAL DISCERNMENT.
differ on the question what is right; a question
the solution of which does not depend, like the
preceding, merely on their having a moral nature,
but on the manner and degree of its development.
Moreover this doctrine affords no color of pretence
for doubting the reality of moral distinctions; that
is to say, for insinuating that there is no such thing
as right independently of our opinion of right.
You might just as well maintain that there is no
such thing as truth, because men, though they
agree in their notion of truth itself, differ on the
question, what is true. The doctrine, as here laid
down, merely supposes  that our moral, as well
as our intellectual, faculties are capable of being
enlightened, inmproved, and enlarged. In other
words, because man, in a high  state of moral
progress, sees at once, and, as he is apt to think,
intuitively, a particular action or class of actions
to be right or wrong, it does not follow that he
could have done the same at the beginning or
lower state of his moral progress. I say could, and
not would; for it is not enough to say of a man
who has made but little moral progress, that he
does not see difficult and refined moral distinctions:
he caanot see them; that is, he cannot, until his
moral nature is educated up to a level with the
moral question proposed; or, in other words, until
the eye, as well as the object, is given to him.
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SPIRITUAL DISCERNMENT.
One word more in this connection. Theorists
are fond of seeking the ultimate test of morals;
and some have thought to find it in intuitions of
reason, others in instinctive feelings, others in expediency, and others in the will of God. But
hake the ultimate test of morals what you will, it
does not alter the fact as to the immediate or proximate test, which is the conscience of the individual;
and this, again, is not an absolute or even a fixed
standard, but varies with the moral progress of the
individual from day to day; nay, is neither more
nor less than the measure and expression of this
progress for the time being.
I have been purposely slow in my approaches to
the proper doctrine of this discourse; namely, the
incompetency of unspiritual men to apprehend and
appreciate spiritual truth. My reason for taking
this course has been, that in respect to the high inculcations of the gospel the office of the preacher,
as I understand it, is not so much to prove the truth
of these inculcations, for their truth is supposed to
be conceded, at least by Christians, to whom alone
they are addressed; but rather to prepare and dispose his hearers to receive the truths in question
in their full significance, by showing how they are
to be reconciled and coordinated with all other
truths; by showing, in short, how entirely they
fall in with the whole of human experience. We
212 
SPIRITUAL DISCERNMENT.
have seen it to be a universal law of human
intelligence, that it should be gradual, successive,
step by step. No matter whether it be a question
of common sense or the highest science; no matter
whether it be a question of expediency, or of taste,
or of morals, -we are not in a condition to pronounce upon it, until our minds by growth, or experience, or training are raised to a level with it. And
in the case of taste and morals, where knowledge
takes the form of sentiment, where we must love
in order to know, as well as know in order to
love, -in all such cases, including of course piety,
religion, the preparation required is not merely a
preparation of the intellect, but also a preparation
of heart and life. This is the general, the universal law; and the text does but inculcate a single,
though the highest, application of this law when it
tells us, that "the natural man receiveth not the
things of the Spirit of God, for they are foolishness unto him; neither can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned."
To return, then, to the questions proposed at
the opening of this discourse; if asked, in the
first place, what constitutes spiritual discernment;
what'gives the power of spiritual discernment?
- I answer, in one word, - spiritual experience.
Spiritual experience supposes, of course, the excitement and activity of the spiritual faculties,
213 
SPIRITUAL DISCERNMENT.
more or less of spiritual culture or growth, some
degree of spiritual progress; and our actual capacity
of knowledge, or of living faith, in spiritual things
depends on the degree of this progress.  "Oh taste
and see that the Lord is good!" exclaimed the
Hebrew psalmist three thousand years ago; for it
was as well understood then by heavenly minded
men as it is now, that we cannot apprehend spir itual truth through the experience of others, but
only through our own.  And  again, "Jesus an swered them and said, My doctrine is not mine, but
his that sent me. If any man will do his will, he
shall know of the doctrine, whether it be of God, or
whether I speak of myself." This and a multitude
more of our Saviour's precepts clearly teach, that
what is called spiritual insight depends much less
on intellectual gifts, or intellectual culture, or
learning of any kind, than on the state of the
affections and our whole moral being.  The same
views were also inculcated and insisted on by his
immediate followers. Thus, in the chapter from
which the text is taken, we are expressly told that
"the deep things of God" are revealed through
his Spirit. "For what man knoweth the things of a
man, save the spirit of a man which is in him?
Even so the things of God knoweth no man, but
the Spirit of God. Now we have received not the
spirit of the world, but the spirit which is of God;
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SPIRITUAL DISCERNMENT.
that we might know the things that are freely
given to us of God." The apostle's meaning here
would seem to be, that it is only through the agency
of what is divine in our own regenerated nature that
we are put into communication with the Divinity,
and made capable of apprehending divine things.
In other words, properly to know God, we must be
in sympathy with him; we must have a portion at
least of his Spirit. Accordingly we are exhorted
to follow "holiness, without which," as it is expressly said, "no man shall see the Lord;" nay,
the Scriptures call upon us, in so many words,
to become "partakers of his holiness," clearly implying that sympathy and participation in divine
things must precede a proper knowledge, that is to
say a living sense, of divine things.
If then we are asked, in the second place, why
"the natural man" is incapable of such knowledge; why he is incapable of spiritual discernment,
properly so called? - the answer, again, is plain.
It is because he has not put himself into a real,
that is to say a living, communication with spiritual things.   He is incapable of this knowledge,
because he has not as yet put himself into a real
and Tiving communication with the objects of this
knowledge.  By "the natural man," in this connection, we understand the opposite to the spiritual man. The natural man is the unspiritual man.
215
III T'i' 
SPIPRITUAL DJSCERNMiENT.
It is not necessary that he should be addicted to
atrocious crimes, or sunk in sensuality, or destitute
of refinement, or  intelligence, or worldly  prudence; it is enough if he is unspiritual. HIe is, in
the strictest sense of that word, a worldly man
one who looks not beyond or above the present
world for his motives, encouragements, and coInsolations; one in whom the spiritual elements of
his nature are not as yet awakened; and one,
therefore, who neither  feels nor recognizes his
spiritual capacities, or his spiritual relations. This
is "the natural man "; and, after what has been
said, it is obvious that his incapacity of spiritual
discernment results from his not beilng in a con dition to know the things of the Spirit in the only
way in which they can be known, - by actual
experience, by personal consciousness. There is
no miracle, no mystery hore.  It is what happens
every day in analogous cases not immediately con nected with religion, where men show themselves
incapable of understanding parts of their own nat ure as developed in others, if they have not also
been developed in themselves. Thus the man of
facts cannot understand the man of imaginaiition,
nor the man of imagination the man of facts; the
miser cannot understand the philanthropist, nor
the philanthropist the miser. Each is a puzzle, an
extravagance, a foolishness to the other; merely
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III 7,l 
SPIRPITUAL DISCERNMENT.
because their natures, though the same in essence,
are so differently developed that they cannot reason
from consciousness to consciousness.
If then matters of taste and conscience cannot
be understood or appreciated by men, except in
proportion as their taste and conscience are unfolded, why wonder that the same law holds in
the kindred subject of religion?  Why wonder
that religious or spiritual truths cannot be understood or appreciated as such, except in proportion
as men's spiritual faculties are unfolded, meaning
by spiritual faculties a spiritual consciousness;
that is, a state of mind which makes men alive
and awake to spiritual things, and puts what is
divine in their own nature into communication
with its Divine  Source.   And  this is what  I
understand to be the apostle's teaching in the
text. "The natural man "- that is, one in whom
all sense of the spiritual and divine still slumbers
"receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God,
for they are foolishness unto him;" that is, they
appear so to a mind which is the result of such
experiences; "neither can he know them, because
they are spiritually discerned,"-showing that the
waking up of his own spiritual faculties is a necessary prerequisite.
Thus are we brought to the third and last question: What changes must the natural man undergo
10
217 
SPIRITUAL DISCERNMENT.
in order to become capable of spiritual discernment?
And to answer it aright we must guard against two
opposite extremes,- the extreme of supposing that
nothing depends on ourselves, and the extreme of
supposing that every thing depends on ourselves.
Our faculties are our own, and it depends on ourselves whether we use or abuse them, and also
whether we cultivate or neglect them, for selfculture is eminently a personal act. But it does
not depend on ourselves under what influences,
from around and from above, all this takes place,
- influences which in point of fact have so much
to do in shaping our characters as well as our
fortunes. It does not depend on ourselves under
what religion we are born, or under what instructions or institutions we are brought up, or, to a
certain extent, into what connections or cornmpanionships we are thrown. For this reason the
wise and good man, after his greatest moral triumphs, will always be ready to exclaim: "Not
unto us, 0 Lord, not unto us, but to thy name
give glory for thy mercy, and for thy truth's sake."
Nevertheless it would seem that for us every thing
has been done but man's part.  "The day-spring
from on high hath visited us," the Holy Spirit is
promised to every one who will open his heart to
welcome the heavenly Visitant; nothing more is
required, even of the unregenerate, but to submit
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SPIRITUAL DISCERNVMENT.
to the means, and co-operate in the work, of the
great salvation.
The change in "the natural man," to which
these means and this work look, and in which
they are fulfilled, is the unfolding of his higher
and better nature.   The  unspiritual man must
become spiritual; he must bring out into activity
and consciousness latent qualities of mind and
heart; and then he will be in a condition to understand and feel the reality and the inifinite worth of
what strikes him perhaps as foolishness now. Nor
has he any reason to despair of being able to do
this. It is not as if the germs of the new life
were not in him; they are in him, and only require to be unfolded and put forth.   A  humble
sense of dependence and of his spiritual needs,
the yearning of the soul after a better state of
things, the prayer of faith, the various means
which God has appointed, and the continual aids
of his Holy Spirit will ensure the object.   The
change might be begun, and often is begun, in
lisping infancy, through the power of a wise
Christian nurture;.it might be, and it sometimes
is, carried on towards perfection in every step
of adlvancing youth and manhood, through a life
devoted from the beginning to the highest principles and the noblest objects.   Oh, if from the
cradle to the grave  half as much  pains were
219 
SPIRITUAL DISCERNMENT.
taken, or half as many appliances used, to bring
out what is spiritual and divine in man as to
bring out those qualities which pertain to worldly
success, another day would dawn on this earth!
And his spiritual convictions and sensibilities
will keep pace with his spiritual growth. To
depend wholly or mainly on books, on nice and
ingenious argumentation, on hearsay or authority,
to clear up our doubts and difficulties in regard to
the invisible things of God, is like seeking the livig among the dead.  A single earnest and hearty
prayer, the actual putting forth of the spiritual life
in deeds of benevolence and mercy, the living consciousness that we have become "partakers of the
Divine nature," will do more to fill the soul with
light and confidence, than years of unsanctified
study. What is most wanted in order to still our
doubts or dispel our perplexities in religion is,
not that we may be convinced by argument of
its reasonableness and abstract probability, but
that we may be made to feel and know its reality from personal consciousness. I repeat it;
the natural, the unspiritual man must become
spiritual. His first satisfactory vision of heavenly
things will be reflected back upon the depths of
his own spiritual nature, excited, developed, regenerated by the power of the Christian faith.
The Christian's doubts and difficulties on the
220 
SPIRITUAL DISCERNMENT.
subject of religion never trouble him when he
is in his highest spiritual moods. And this is
what our Saviour meant when he said in the
passage which has been cited once before, "If
any man will do his will, he will know of the
doctrine, whether it be of God, or whether  I
speak of myself."  He  will have "the witness
in himself."  " There is," says one of the wisest
and best of the old English divines, " there is a
knowilng of the truth as it is in Jesus, as it is in
a Christ-like nature, as it is in that sweet, mild,
humble, and loving spirit of Jesus, which spreads
itself like a morinig sun upon the souls of good
men, full of light and life."
185-1858.
221 
PUBLIC OPINION.
XIII,
PUBLIC OPINION.
"Carried about with every wind of doctrine." -  EPHESIANS iv. 14.
UR  free political institutions, the general dif       fusion of knowledge, and the facilities, par ticularly through the newspaper press, for acting
on whole communities at once, have had the effect
gradually to introduce among us a new instrument
of influence and reform; or, at any rate, to clothe
an old one with new power and activity. This
instrument, I hardly need say, is Public Opinion.
In what I am going to say on this subject, let
me not be understood to deny that public opinion,
in its place and degree, is a legitimate principle
and rule of human conduct. It is natural and
fit that we should desire to stand well with our
fellow-men.  From our condition in society, and
-from the very constitution of our minds, it was
obviously intended that we should be affected
and determined, more or less, by praise and
blame. Nor is this all. Public opinion, on all
222 
PUBLIC OPINION.
simple questions resting on a direct appeal to
common sense and the moral sentiments, is generally right; at any rate, it is more likely to be
so than the private opinion of interested parties.
Look back on the history of human progress:
almost every important step has been taken, not
because the few advised it, but because the many
demanded  it.  The  history of reform  in most
countries is little else than the history of a series
of concessions to public opinion.  And so in other
countries, even in the most despotic; for though
in absolute governments there are no legal checks
on the abuse of power, there is still the check of
public opinion; to wit, a fear lest the people may
be goaded into some desperate act. Then, too,
the despot, at least if he lives within the pale of
Christian civilization, cannot be wholly indifferent
to the public opinion of other nations; he cannot
help being restrained, more or less, by an unwillingness to incur the world's execration or
contempt.
Some may object that conscience, enlightened
by revelation, is the sole rule in the last appeal,
and that to ask ourselves what the world will
thins, or say, is treason to this rule.  But why
so?  With  ordinary men,  and in the ordinary
course of things, what we call the individual
conscience is little else than a reflection of the
223 
PUBLIC OPINION.
public conscience; that is to say,' of the public
opinion of right. In such cases, therefore, the
appeal to the  public  opinion of  right is not
necessarily an appeal  fiom  conscience  to some
other standard; to that of expediency for ex ample. It may be, and often is, an appeal from
the uninstructed conscience of the individual to
what is believed to be the better instructed con science of the community; the public sense of
right.   Exigencies  sometimes  arise, as  I shlall
have occasion presently to show, when each one
should follow his own conscience without regard
to public opinion; but, in the ordinary course of
things, I cannot help thinking public opinion to
be a safer rule than that conceit of private judg ment, that extravagance of individualism, which
it is now  so much the fashion to recommend.
Still, even here, you will observe, I do not sup pose a man to defer to public opinion any further
than his own conscience dictates; so that, after
all, he does but follow his own  conscience in
following the consciences of other men.
Thus much in favor of public opinion as a rule
of conduct: it is still more important as a motive
and sanction.  When a mail is tempted to commit
a fraud, or to be guilty of any meanness or cruelty
or excess, his own conscience protests against it;
and this alone ought to restrain him: often, how
224 
PUBLIC OPINION.
ever, we know it does not. Happily, in most cases
public opinion protests as well; and the same person who is not restrained by his own sense of the
wrong, or by a fear of self-condemnation, is restrained by a fear of disgrace, or of public condemnation. In other words, he does not stand
so much in awe of his own conscience as he
does of the consciences of other men.  After
all, however, the motive from which he acts is
often at least of the nature of a moral motive:
he is afraid of moral disapprobation; he stands
in awe of the collective conscience of the community, which he looks up to as sanctioning and
reeinforcing his own conscience.  For let me impress it upon you, that, when any one is restrained
from wrong-doing by the public opinion of right
as such, he is still restrained by conscience; that
is, the public conscience: "Conscience, I say, not
thinie own, but of the other."
How little the best of us are in a condition to
spare the restraints of public opinion, as a safeguard to morals and decency, appears from the
effect it almost always has on the principles and
habits even of good men, if they move into a
neighborhood where a lower standard of public
opinion prevails; or where, as in the case of new
and border settlements, no effective public opinion
has as yet been organized; or where the individual
10*                o
225 
PUBLIC OPINION.
from any cause has reason to think himself unknown or unobserved.   I speak not now of a
few exceptional cases, of here and there one who
seems born to influence others without being influenced by them in return. I speak of mankind
as they arise, including what are called the better
classes: I say of men in general, that in every
tolerably constituted society they help to hold each
other up.  I am aware how apt public opinion is to
be perverted or warped on single points. For example; in almost every community there are certain
antiquated and widespread abuses, which the public opinion of that community, from prejudice or
superstition or interest, is still disposed to uphold
or connive at. Nevertheless, even there, on the
great majority of topics in morals and humanity,
public opinion is almnost sure to be in advance of
what men would be if left to themselves. Imperfect as public opinion is, there is not one man in
ten thousand, whom a fear of offending it does
not make more circumspect in many respects
than he otherwise would be; more anxious not
merely to appear, but also to be, worthy of public
confidelnce.
And besides, why insist on what cannot be?
Theorists may declaim, as they will, about the
duty and the safety of disregarding public opinion as a practical principle, but a single glance at
226 
PUBLIC OPINION.
the actual working of the social constitution will
show that, even  with the theorists themselves,
theory is one thing and practice another. No
sane man ever did or ever will live in society,
and yet be wholly indifferent to the opinion of
society; for, however much he may be at issue
with society on some points, he is never at issue
with it in such a sense as to cast off all regard to
appearances.   The martyr, on  his way  to the
stake, is not content with being sincere and
brave; he would appear so, and live as such in
the memory and speeches of men. And why not?
Why not wish to stand well before the sense of
right in other men, as we would before the sense
of right in ourselves, or in God?
Let me, therefore, repeat what I said in the
beginning: -public opinion has its legitimate place
as a rule and sanction of human conduct, even in
matters of right and wrong. Private conscience
is not an absolute or all-sufficient rule, to the
exclusion or neglect of the public conscience;
much less is it of the nature of a protest against
the public conscience. If it were so, where would
be found that unity in men's moral judgment on
whiclf law is founded, and without which society
could not exist?
Still it by no means follows that there is no
occasion for the warning in the text, " that we
227 
PUBLIC OPlNION.
henceforth be no more children, tossed to and
fro, and carried about by every wind of doc  trine." The character of the trimmer and time  server, whether from selfish notionls or from mere
weakness, is so odious, and of so frequent occur  rence in modern society, that we can hardly be
too much on our guard against the danger of
which the Apostle speaks.
How then is this danger to be averted? How
is it possible to pay a proper regard to public
opinion, without  allowing it to become  inordi  nate,- a snare to our own integrity, to all manlv
independence and stability of purpose?
In the first place, we are to make sure that
what we take for public opinion is public opin  ion; -a much more difficult thing to do than is
commonly supposed.   The  writers  and  talkers
constitute but a small minority of any com  munity; yet we are very apt to reason and act
on the assumption, that, what the writers and
talkers say, everybody thinks. Nay, a very few
writers if they write a great deal, and a very
few talkers if they talk a great deal, and talk
loudly and confidently and repeat themselves
3 and quote one another, can easily create an im  pression, in regard to some subjects, that the
world is on their side when it is not. And
when to this is added the whole machinery of
228 
PUBLIC OPINIONY.
party and popular agitation, - pamphlets, periodical publications, newspapers, meetings, speeches,
agencies,-it is astonishing how small a number
of leading and active spirits can make their earnest
cry, either for or against the project in hand,
sound like the public voice. So it was with a
knot of philosophers in the opening scenes of
the first French Revolution. Even in our own
days, a single newspaper in London aspires, we aie
told, to manufacture public opinion for the whole
kingdom. So profound is my reverence for the
will of the people, or of even a majority of the
people, that, could I be sure it has been expressed
freely and understandingly, I should hardly hesitate, in any case, to obey. But I must have
better evidence that the people will it, than the
reiterated and passionate asseverations of zealots
or demagogues assuming to speak in their name.
I remember that among the people are vast numbers who cannot be said to have made up any
mind on the subject, and also that many among
those who have made up their minds are kept
back from expressing them by constitutional reserve, or by inability or distaste for controversy.
I remember, too, Burke's often-quoted illustration:
"Because half-a-dozen grasshoppers under a fern
make the field ring with their importunate chink,
whilst thousands of great cattle, reposed beneath
229 
PUBLIC OPINION.
the shadowv of the British oak, chew the cud and
are silent, pray do not imagine that those who make
the noise are the only inhabitants of the field; that
of course they are many in number; or that, after
all, they are other than the little, shrivelled, meagre,
hopping, though loud and troublesome insects of
the hour."
There is nothing of which I feel more confident
than I do of this: that what often passes for public
opinion is not public opinion, but the passions and
prejudices of a few heated, and it may be interested,
writers and talkers. Happily, in almost every com munity making the smallest pretensions to intelligence and freedom, there is a powerful reserve
of moderate and silent men, who seldom cause
themselves to be heard or felt in public matters,
but yet are known to exist, and, by creating a fear
of reactions, operate as a check on violent.and
headlong counsels.  I say, "by creating a fear of
reactions;" for the liability to reactions, about
which  so much is said, would seem to resolve
itself into the fact, that ordinarily a considerable
portion of society take but little part in the great
movements going on around them, until alarm at
the waywardness or extravagance of these movements constrains them, contrary to all their natural
tastes and inclinations, to speak out. Whenl they
do speak out, and not until they do, we are in a
280 
P UBLIC OPINION.
condition to know  what the public opinion really
is,-that which previously passed for it being but
a counterfeit and a pretence. I hold therefore,
that, in making up our minds as to what public
opinion enjoins or forbids, we are not to look to
the writers and talkers alone; but are to take into
the account that powerful reserve of moderate and
for the most part silent men, on whom, as I believe, in all great and trying emergencies God
has made the order and stability of society in no
small measure to depend. Truth and justice, as
it seems to me, demand this at our hand. Besides,
were we always disposed to take this course, I
need not say how much it would do to save both
Church and State from those panics and violent
and disastrous convulsions, which have done so
much, and are likely to do so much more, to
trouble and retard the progress of humanity and
civilization.
But supposing it to be conceded whither public
opinion points, another question arises: - Is it an
enlightened public opinion; that is, one formed
on a proper  understanding of  the subject, and
freely expressed?  Who would, for example, give
mnuch weight to the public voice in despotic
countries, where not a word is printed which has
not passed under a rigid censorship of the press,
nor a word uttered in favor of liberty or against
231 
PUBLIC OPINION.
the powers that be, even in familiar intercourse,
but at the hazard of men's lives? Who, again,
would attach much importance to universal con sent in matters of faith among the Roman Catho lics, where the principle is avowedly acted on of
submitting all individual differences to the unity
of the Church? In all such cases there is no
proper public opinion; there can be none: the
voice is the voice of many, but the opinion is the
opinion of one or a few of a past age. In all such
cases the consent of the multitude is not the result
of opinion, but of arranygement and influence; men
giving their suffrages as mechanically as if you
heard the clatter of the machinery by which their
hands are lifted up.
Then, too, there are mnysterious states of mind
as well as body, brought about we cannot always
tell how, in consequence of which, as in the witchcraft times, whole communities, though comparatively enlightened and free, become liable to strange
delusions. The delusion arises and spreads, and
takes on the laws of an epidemic, and the people
are mad, and not the less so because all are mad together. But what regard is due to public opinion
when, as in such cases, it appears under the form
of p)ublic frenzy?
Add to this that local or sectional interests or
prejudices often have the effect to blind and per
232 
PUBLIC OPINION.
vert the judgment, so as to make it of little or no
value as evidence of truth and right, though the
almost unanimous judgment of a whole community.
Have you never known a difficult financial, political, or moral question, respecting which those for
whose supposed interest, convenience, or safety it
is that it should be decided in one way, maintain
almost to a man that it ought to be so decided;
while those for whose supposed interest, convenience, or safety it is that it should be decided
in the opposite way, are just as confident and
unanimous that it ought to be so decided? Narrow-minded men may suspect and charge one at
least of the parties to such a contest with acting
against what they see to be right; but it is much
more reasonable, as well as much more fair and
magnanimous, to suppose that neither party is in
a condition to see what is right in the particular
question. If so, however, their united opinion on
the subject, though honestly entertained and freely
expressed, is not worth a straw. We can see this
in our neighbors, and especially in our opponents;
but, unhappily, we cannot see it in ourselves. The
very idea that a man's judgment is blinded or perverteel, by prejudice or passion, implies that he
himself is insensible to the delusion; otherwise,
I hardly need say, the delusion would not be.
Look, again, and observe in what manner con
233 
tPUBLIC OPINION.
sent in opinion and concert in action are often
brought about, especially in politics and religion,
and then tell me candidly how much such consent
and concert are worth. If, indeed, the uniformity
insisted on resulted from the free, independent,
and unbiassed action of individual minds calmly
deciding the question on its merits, and in view
of all the evidence on both sides, and with a single
eye to the truth, it would be a moral miracle if it
varied much from the reality. But no such thing.
Take away what early education has done, and
what mere authority has done, and what sympathy
and imitation have done, and what party spirit and
party drill have done, and what addresses to the
feelings, and especially to men's fears and jealousies, have done,-and what is there left?  Public opillion, do you say? Ought it not rather to
be accounted an illustration of the practicability
of casting a multitude of minds in one and  the
same mould, wherever the proper apparatus for
doing it exists, and the right sort of men can be
found to work it? I do not mean that a wise
man  will slight or contemn, or needlessly defy
even, such a public opinion; but he will hardly
regard it as the fruit of profound research  and
free discussion, or as being in any way the effect of evidence, or as being itself of the nature
of evidence that should weigh with the weight of
234 
PUBLIC OPINION.
a feather in making up his own conclusions. He
knows that whoever supposes a multitude of persons can really think, and yet think exactly alike,
has yedt to learn what thinking means. Accordingly, so far as authority or argument is concerned, he will be more influenced by conclusions
deliberately arrived at by a single individual of
an honest and gifted mind, who has really examined the subject for himself under the best
lights of an advancing science and civilization,
than by the consent of many thousands, where
this consent is obviously a matter of tradition, or
policy, or sympathy, or drill, or a mere echo. What
a noted writer has said is strictly true: "One man,
who has in him a higher wisdom, or a hitherto unknown spiritual truth, is stronger, - not than ten
men who have it not, nor than ten thousand,- but
stronger than all men who have it not, and stands
out among them with quite an ethereal, angelic
power."
Let me call your attention to another circumstance. What gives to public opinion its chief
and characteristic value consists in this: that it is
understood to result from a great variety of minds,
acting under a great variety of influences and prepossessions, and so tending to balance, qualify, and
correct one another. It is understood to be an
opinion in which the old and the young, the rich
235 
PUBLIC OPINION.
and the poor, the learned and the unlearned con cur. Hence it follows, that the public opinion of
a party as to the measures of the party, or of
employers on one side, or of workmen on the
other, as to their respective rights and duties, is
not public opinion, properly so called. The same
is also true of collections of persons living to gether in temporary or partial separation from the
rest of the world, so as to have what is called a
public opinion of their own, especially where com munity of age, or of prejudice, or of taste and pursuits inclines them all to look on subjects under
one and the same point of view.   Under such
circumstances, what is sometimes appealed to as
public opinion is not public opinion. It is not
the opinion of the public, but of a minute and
isolated portion of the public,- an opinion also
generated and pronounced under special biasses
of judgment, with nothing to balance, modify, or
correct these biasses. So far from being the opinion of the public, it is the opinion of a class or
clique. This, I know, may be right; let us hope
that it generally is so: what I insist upon is, that
it is just as liable to be misled by one-sided views
of subjects as the opinion of an individual; and
when it is thuis misled, a sense of numbers will
only have the effect to exaggerate and intensify
the one-sidedness and the mischiefs growing out
236 
PUBLIC OPINION.
of it. For this reason, if a man expects aid to
his conscience from public opinion, it must be
from a large and comprehensive public opinion.
It must not be the public opinion of his clique
or party; and therefore it is well if what he
sometimes calls public opinion, that is, the prevalent opinion among those immediately about him,
is not continually tempting him to do what his
own conscience, and the public conscience rightly
understood, alike condemn.
One caution more. We are never to give way
to public opinion, however formed and however
well ascertained, in such a manner, or in such a
spirit, as to be "like children, tossed to and fro,
and carried about with every wind of doctrine, by
the slight of men and cunning craftiness, whereby
they lie in wait to deceive."
On a multitude of questions respecting the mere
externals of life a wise man will do as others do;
not because he has no opinion of his own, but because it is reason enough, in such cases, to take one
course rather than another, if such is the common
practice. Moreover, it is a great mistake to suppose that deference to public opinion is, in general,
a temnptation to illnconstancy and fickleness, to innovation and change: on the contrary, it is the
sheet-anchor of conservatism. Read the lives of
such men as Chillingworth and Blanco White.
237 
PUBLIC OPINION.
All admit their ability and general excellence
of character; but all lament, at the same time,
their melancholy instability of faith, which arose
not from too much but from too little sympathy
with the common mind. What was said of one
of them applies to the whole class: "His fre  quent changes proceeded from too nice an in  quisition into truth: his doubts grew out of
himself: he assisted them with all the strength
of his reason: he was then too hard for himself;
but finding as little quiet and repose in those vic  tories, he quickly recovered by a new appeal to
his own judgment; so that, in all his sallies and
retreats, he was in fact his own convert."
Sometimes, however, the vertigo seizes the pub lie, a whole community, a whole sect or party,
only here and there an individual being spared.
What shall these individuals do? Then, too, there
are great interests and questions, in respect to which
the legitimate condition of the human mind is one
of progress, and the natural order of this progress
is that the few should be in advance of the many.
Shall the few, from fear of the many, or from a
slavish regard to public opinion, be unfaithful to
* this trust? Foreigners contend, and I am afraid
not entirely without reason, that, owing to politi cal and social peculiarities, there is no country on
the face of the earth where a selfish or timid sub
238 
PUBLIC OPINION.
serviency to public opinion is carried so far as it
is here; in short, that, with all our boast of independence, there is no people among whom so little
real independence is to be found, especially among
those who ought to lead and not merely to follow public sentiment.  " Ye  have not so learned
Christ; if so be that ye have heard him, and have
been taught by him, as the truth is in Jesus."
To allow the individual to be merged and lost in
the mass, to be turned into a mere tool, copy, echo
of the public will and the public voice, would
be to forget and frustrate the essential purpose,
the very genius, the distinctive peculiarity of
Christianity.  Every man, we are told, is to bear
his own burden; every man is to have his rejoicing in himself, and not in another: to his own
Master he is to stand or fall.  Moreover, the
whole doctrine of Divine influences supposes a
man to act from his own spirit, as the same has
been touched and regenerated by the Spirit of
God. We may still think with others; on most
subjects we probably shall, and it is natural and
right that we should; but it must be because we
really think with them, and not because we allow
them to think for us, turning us this way or that
as they will. Under all circumstances, at any
risk, we must have a mind of our own, as the
condition of having a soul of our own;  "that we
239 
PUBLIC OPINION.
henceforth be no more children, tossed to and
fro and carried about with every wind of doctrine, by the slight of men and cunning craftiness whereby they lie in wait to deceive; but
speaking the truth in love, may grow up into
him in all things which is the head, even
Christ."
1856.
240
a 
AM I NOT IN SPORTS]
XIV.
AM I NOT IN SPORT?
"As  a  madman  who  casteth firebrands, arrows, and death, so  is the
man who deceiveth his neighbor, and saith, Am not I in sport? "  PROVERBS  xxvi. 18, 19.
T is incalculable how much pain is inflicted, and
how much injury is done, without any thing
which can properly be called malicious intent, or
deliberate wrong. Thus there are those who, like
the madman mentioned in Scripture, will cast firebrands, arrows, and death, and then think it a sufficient excuse to say, "Are we not in sport?"  Let
it be that they are, I think it will not be difficult
to show that this will not excuse, or do much to
palliate, the conduct in question. I think it will
not be difficult to show that men are answerable
for the mischiefs they do from mere wantonness or
in sport, and that it is wrong-doing of this description which  makes  up no inconsiderable part of
every one's guilt.
It is to little or no purpose to be able to say
that such offences do not originate in conscious
11
241
p 
AM I NOT IN SPORT?
malice, for, as has just been intimated, the same
is true of a large proportion of  acknowledged
crimes.  It is seldom, very seldom, that men injuie one another firom hatred, or for the sake of
revenge, - because they find, or expect to find,
any pleasure in the mere consciousness of inflictilg pa(in.  MAen injure one another from wantonness, or want of consideration; or, more commonly
still, because the carrying out of their policy, or
their prejudices, or their sport happens to interfere with the interests and comfort of others, and,
though really sorry for this, they are not prepared
to give up either their policy, or their prejudices,
or their sport to spare another's feelings. Wars
are waged and conquests made, and mourning and
desolation spread through a whole country, in the
wantonness of hoiior, or to gratify an insatiable
ambition; but without any thing which can properly be called malice, either in the first movers or
immediate agents. Men opposed to each other in
politics or religion will allow this opposition to go
to very unjustifiable lengths, even to the disturbing of the peace of neighborhoods, and the breaking of friendships and family connections; and all
this, to be sure, must give rise to a great deal of
ill-will and hot blood; but it does not originate
in malice, properly so called, - in positive malice
towards any body. So likewise a rash and im
242 
AM I YOT IN SPORT.
provident man may bring incalculable mischiefs
on all connected with him, involving them in
pecuniary difficulties, or committing and paining
them ill other ways, and yet be able to allege
with perfect truth that he did not mean to do
them any harm; that, so far from being actuated
by malice, he feels nothing and has felt nothing
but the sincerest affection for the very persons
whom  he has injured, and  most affection, perlhaps, for those whom he has most injured. But
why multiply illustrations? The whole catalogue
of the vices of self-indulgence and excess,-blac'k
and comprehensive as it is, -has nothing to do
with malicious intent; that is to say, these vices
do not find any part of their temptation or gratification in ill-will to others, or in the consciousness of causing irmisery to others. And yet who,
on this account, denies that they are vices, or that
they are among the worst of vices?
Hence, the moral perplexity existing in some
minds on  this  subject  may  be  traced  to two
errors: making malice to be the only bad motive by which we can be actuated; and confounding the mere absence of malice  with that
activd' principle of benevolence, or love of our
neighbor, which Christianity makes to be the foundation and substance of all true social virtue.
How unfounded the first of these assumptions
243 
AM I NOT IN SPORT 2
is, appears generally from what hlias been said;
but  the  same  may  also  be shown  on strictly
ethical grounds. We must distinguish between
what is simply odious, and what is immoral: the
malignant passions when acted out by animals are
odious, but they are not immoral, because they
are not comprehended in that light by the agent.
The reason why the malignant passions are im moral in man is that he knows them to be
ilnlmmoral; and accordingly any other passion,
which he knows to be immoral, becomes for
the same reason alike immoral to him as a prin ciple of conduct. Hence it follows that, though
not actuated by malice, we may be by some other
motive equally reprehensible in a moral point of
view, though not perhaps as odious, - by the love
of ease, by vanity or pride, by unjust partialities,
by inordinate ambition, by avarice or lust,- dis positions which have nothing to do with malice,
but yet are felt and acknowledged by all to be
bad and immoral. Moreover, the tendencies of
modern civilization are to be considered in this
connection. Times of violence are gradually giv ing place to times of self-indulgence and fraud;
and the consequence is that now, where one man
is betrayed into vices of malevolence and outrage,
twenty are betrayed into those of frivolity, licen tiousness, or overreaching.   I go further still.
244 
AM I NOT IN SPORTS
Suppose a man actuated by none of these positively bad motives; nay, suppose the injury done
to be accidental and wholly unintentional, this will
not ill all cases justify the deed. The question
still arises whether the injury done, supposing
it to be  wholly unintentional, might not have
been foreseen and ought not to have been foreseen; for, where the well-being of others is concerned, we are bound not only to mean no harm,'
but to take care to avoid every thiing which is
likely to do harm: and negligence in this respect
is itself a crime. So obviously just is this principle, so entirely does it approve itself to the reason
and common sense of mankind, that we find it
everywhere recognized, in some form or other, in
the jurisprudence of civilized countries.  " When
a workman flings down a stone or piece of timber
into the street, and kills a man, this may be either
misadventure, manslaughter, or murder, according
to the circumstances under which the original act
is done. If it were in a country village, where a
few passengers are, and he calls out to all people
to have a care, it is misadventure only; but if it
were in London, or other populous town, where
people are continually passing, it is manslaughter,
though he gives loud warning; and murder, if he
knows of their passing and gives no warning at all,
for then it is malice against all mankind." 1
1 Blackstone.
245 
AM I A'OT IN SPORTS
Equally groundless is the second of the above  mentioned assumptions,- to wit, that of confound  ing the mere absence of malice with the active
principle of benevolence itself, or that love of our
neighbor which Christianity makes to be the
foundation and substance of all true social virtue.
There is nothing, perhaps, which more essentially
distinguishes worldly propriety and legal honesty
from Christian virtue than this, that they stop with
negatives. They are content with avoiding what is
expressly forbidden, not reflecting that this, at the
best, only makes men to be not bad; it does not
make them to be good. Besides, if we take this
ground, if we allege the absence of all anger and
resentment, we bar the plea that we were hurried
into the act by the impetuosity of our passions, -
a plea which the experience of a common infirmity
has always led men to regard as the strongest
extenuating circumstance of wrong-doing.  If we
have given pain to a fellow-creature, it is stating
an aggravation of the fault and not an excuse,
to say that we did not do it in passion but in
cold blood; and worse still, if we say that we
did it in sport. What! find sport in giving pain
-to others? This may consist, I suppose, with the
absence  of  what  is commonly  understood  by
malice; but I utterly deny its compatibility with
active Christian benevolence, or with what in
246 
AM 1 NOT IN SPORT. 
deed amounts to the same thing, a kind, generolis, and magnanimous nature. Were I in quest
of facts to prove the total depravity of man, I
should eagerly seize on such as the following:the shouts of heartless merriment sometimes
heard to arise from a crowd of idlers collected
round a miserable object in the streets; a propensity to turn into ridicule, not merely the
faults and affectations of others, but their natural
deformities or defects  jesting with sacred things,
or practical jests, the consequences of which to
one of the parties are of the most serious and
painful character; and the pleasure with which
men listen to sarcastic remarks though causeless
and unprovoked, or to wit the whole point of
which consists in its stingt. Not that the doctrine
of universal and total depravity is actually proved
even by such conduct, for happily the conduct itself is not universal; to some it is repugnant from
the beginnig; and besides, even where it is fallen
into, I suppose it is to be referred iu a majority of
cases to a love of excitement, rather than to a love
of evil for its own sake. Still I maintain that the
conduct in question, however explained, is incompatible, or at any rate utterly incQnsistent, with
thoug,htfuil and generous natures.
Still, many who would not think entirely to
excuse the conduct in question can. find p tlia                                  -.. his."
247 
.AM I NOT IN SPORT?
tions for it and extenuating circumstances, some
of which it will be well to examine.
In the first place it is said that the sport is not
found in the sufferings of the victim, but in the
awlkward and ludicrous situations and embarrass menets into which he is thrown.  Now I admit,
that, if these awkwardnesses and absurdities could
be entirely disconnected with the idea of pain,
they might amuse even a good mind:  but as
they cannot be thus disconnected, - as all this
is known  and  seen  to  be  the  expression of
anguish either of body or mind, or to be  the
consequence of some natural defect or misfor tune, or some cruel imposition on weakness or
good nature, - I affirm as l)efore, that he whose
mirth is not checked by this single consideration
betrays a want of true benevolence, and even of
common humanity. Neither will it help the mat ter much to say that the pain and mortification
are not known, are not seen, or at least are not
attended to; that this view of the subject is
entirely overlooked, the mind being wholly taken
up with its ludicrous aspects.  For how comes it
that we have so quick a sense to every thing
. ludicrous in the situation and conduct of others,
but no sense at all to their  sufferings?   Our
hearts, it would seem, are not as yet steeled
against all symnpathy in the sufferings and mis.::.:.-..:.:
.:e  ~a.  ~.
-248 
AM I NOT IN SPORTS 
fortunes of our neighbors, provided we can be
made to apprehend and realize them; and this is
well: but why so slow to apprehend and realize
them?  If, though directly before our eyes, the
thought of them never occurs to our minds; if
we can say, and say with truth, that while we
enjoyed the sport it never once occurred to us
that it was at the expense of another's feelings,
though this fact was all the time staring us in
the face, -does it not at least betray a degree of
indifference or carelessness about the feelings of
others, which is only compatible with a cold and
selfish temper? Put whatever construction you
will, therefore, on this kind of sport, it argues a
bad state of the affections: for either its connection with the pain and mortification of others is
perceived, and then it is downright  cruelty; or
it is not perceived, and then it is downright insensibility.
Another ground is sometimes taken. There are
those who wvill say, "We cannot help it.  Persons
of a constitution less susceptible to the ludicrous, or
less quick to observe it, may do differently, but we
cannot." Obviously, however, reasonings of this
sort, If intended as a valid excuse, betray a singular and almost hopeless confusion of moral ideas.
They cannot help it? Of course they do not
mean that they would be affected in the same
11*
249 
AM I NOT IN SPORTS
way by the same thing, under all circumstances
and in all states of feeling. Let the coarse jest
be at the expense of a parent, or of a sister; or
let its tendency be to bring derision on an office,
a cause, or a doctrine which we have much at
heart; or let it offend beyond a certain point
against the conventional usages of what is called
good society, -and, instead of provoking mirth, it
provokes indignation or contempt. All they can
mean, therefore, is simply this: their sense of the
ludicrous is so keen, that, when not restrained by
some present feeling of justice, humanity, or decorum, it becomes irrepressible. Undoubtedly it
does; but this is no more than what  might be
said of the worst crimes of sensuality and excess.
What would you think if a sordid man  should
plead, that being sordid by nature, and not havinlg any high principle or feeling to restrain him,
he cannot help acting sordidly?   Does he not
know that it is this want of high principle and
feeling which constitutes the very essence of his
sin?  We have shown that to find sport in what
gives pain, argues a bad state of the principles
and affections. Manifestly, therefore, it is to no
purpose to urge as an excuse, that in the existing
state of our prineiples and affections we cannot
help it; for the existing state of our principles
and affections is the very thing which is complained of and condemned.
250 
AM I NOT IN SPORT?
It may be contended, as a last resort, that this
state of mind is consistent, to say the least, with
amiable manners, companionable qualities, and good
nature. But if herein is meant to be included real
kindness of heart, or the highest forms of generosity and nobleness of soul, I deny that it can be.
There is no necessity of trying to make it olut that
men of this stamp are worse than they really are.
Unquestionably they can and often do make themselves agreeable and entertain ing, especially to
those who are not very scrupulous about the occasions of their mirth, and feel no repugnance to
join in a laugh which perhaps they would hesitate to raise. Good-natured also they may be, if
nothing more is meant by this than the absence
of an unaccommodating, morose, and churlish disposition: for there are two sorts of good nature;
the good nature of benevolence, and the good
nature of ease and indifference. The first will
not consist, as we have seen, with wrong-doing
firom wantonness or in sport; but the last may;
yet even when it does, not much credit can accrue
from this circumstance.  Worthy of all honor is
that good nature which springs from genuine kindness and sympathy, or a desire to make and to see
everybody happy; but the same can hardly be
said (of what often passes for good nature in the
world, though it is nothing but the result of an
easy temper and loose principles.
251 
.AM I NOT IN SPORT.
Still, I cannot but think that a large majority
of those who sometimes look for sport in wrongdoing have enough of humanity and of justice to
restrain them, if they could only be made to understand and feel the extent of the injury thus occasioned. Take, for example, jesting with sacred
things. Its influence on those who indulge in it
is worse than that of infidelity; for it destroys
our reverence, and it is harder to recover our
reverence, after it has been lost, than our convictions. Nay, it is often worse than that of daring
crime: the latter puts us in opposition to religiolln;
but it does not necessarily undermine our respect
for it, or the sentiment on which the whole rests.
Consider, too, its effects on others. The multitude are apt to mistake what is laughed at by
their superiors for what is ridiculous in itself.
In France it was not the sober arguments of a
knot of misguided atheists, but the scoffs and
mockeries and ill-timed pleasantries in which the
higher classes generally shared, which destroyed
the popular sense of the sanctity of religion; and
when this great regulative principle of society was
gone, it was not long before the mischief came
back, amidst scenes of popular license and desperation, "to plague the inventors."  And so of
cruel sports.   In reading  the  Sermon  on the
Mount, you must have  been  struck with  the
252 
AM I NOT IN SPORT?
fact, that, while he who is angry with his brother
is only said to be in danger of the judgment,
whosoever  shall say, Thou  fool, shall be in
danger of hell fire." But, on second thoughts,
is this any thing more than a simple recognition
of what wre all know to be true; that hatred does
not inflict half so deep or bitter a feeling of wrong
as scorn? Much is said about the disorganizing
doctrines and theories of the day; but, bad as
these are, they are not likely to do so much to
exasperate the poor against the rich, and break
down the bulwarks of order and law, as the conduct of some among the rich themselves. The
time was when the few could trample with indifference on the interests and feelings of the many,
and make sport of their complaints with impunity;
but that time has passed away.
One word also on those cruel sports where animals, and not men, are the sufferers. Cruelty to
animals is essentially the same feeling with cruelty
to a fellow-creature, and in some respects it is even
more unbecoming. Man is as a god to the inferior races. To abuse the power which this gives
us over the helpless beings that Providence has
placed at our mercy, is as mean as it is inhuman.
If we would listen to the pleadings of what is
noble and generous in our natures, it would be
as impossible for us needlessly to harm an unof
253 
AM I NOT IN SPORT?
fending animal, as it would be to strike an infant
or an idiot. Shame on the craven who quails be fore his equals, and then goes away and wreaks
his unmanly resentments on a creature which he
knows can neither retaliate nor speak! Besides,
we may suppose that there are orders of beings
above us, as well as below us. Look then at our
treatment of the lower animals, and then ask your selves what we should think, if a superior order of
beings should mete out to us the same measure.
What if in mere wantonness, or to pamper un natural tastes, they should subject us to every
imaginable hardship and wrong? What if they
should makle a show, a public recreation, of our
foolish contests and dying agonies? Nay, more;
what if it should come to this, that in their lan guage a man-killer should be called a sportsman by
way of distinction?
But I must close. I wage no idle and bootless
war against innocent mirth. We have it on the
authority of the Bible, and we read it in the con stitution of man, that there is " a time to weep
and a time to laugh." There will also be ample
scope for the legitimate action of caustic wit, so
* long as there are follies to be shown up, pre tenders to be unmasked, and conceit and affecta tion to be taught to know themselves. But, in
the serious strifes of the world, the ultimate ad
254 
AM I NOT IN SPORTS
vantages of this weapon, though wielded on the
right side, are more than dubious.  "The  Spaniards have lamented," it has been said, "and  I
believe truly, that Cervantes' just and inimitable
ridicule of knight-errantry rooted up, with that
folly, a great deal of their real honor.   And it
was apparent that Butler's fine satire on fanaticism contributed not a little, during the licentious
times of Charles II., to bring sober piety into disrepute. The reason is evident: there are many
lines of resemblance between truth and its counterfeits; and it is the province of wit only to
find out the likenesses in things, and not the
talent of the common admirers of it to discover
the differences." At any rate we can shun the
rock of small wits, who think to make up for
poverty of invention by scurrility and grimace,
who think to gain from the venom of the shaft
what is wanting in the vigor of the bow. We
can imitate the example of those among the
great masters of wit in all ages, who have ennobled it by purity of expression and a moral aim;
so that, in the end, virtue may not have occasion
to blush, or humanity to mourn, for any thing we
have said or done. Take any other course, and
we are reminded of the confession which experience wrung from the lips of the Wise Man. "I
said in my heart, Go to now, I will prove thee
255 
AM I NOT IN SPORTS
with mirth; therefore enjoy pleasure: and behold
this also is vanity. I said of laughter, It is mad;
and of mirth, What doeth it?"  " Even in laughter the heart is sorrowful, and the end of that mirth
is heaviness."
1827-1857.
256
a 
HOLNESTY.
XV.
HONESTY.
"In all things willing to live honestly." - HEBREWS xiii. 18.
H EN  a man's honesty is questioned, it is
common to refer the charge to some business transaction. But this is taking a narrow and
false view of the subject. A partisan who knowingly avails himself of sophistical arguments in
recommending a cause however sacred, is a dishonest man. A demagogue who makes use of
popular prejudices which he secretly despises, in
order to compass ambitious schemes, is a dishonest
man. The hypocrite, the sycophant, the charlatan, -these are all dishonest men.  Thus there
are a multitude of ways in which a man can show
himself honest or dishonest, - ways which have
nothing to do with buying or selling.
Honesty ihcludes all those qualities which go to
make up that sort of character which inspires confidenc'e. By an honest manl we mean a true man,
- a man who can be depended on in all changes
of circumstances, in all vicissitudes of fortune.
He is one who feels what he professes, thinks
Q
257 
HONESTY.
and means what he says, is what he seems. He
is not one man to-day, and another man to-mnorrow; one man ill one company, and another man
in another company; one man to me and another
man to you. You always know where to find
him. An honest man may have his failings; nay,
more, he may have great faults, - faults of manner and faults of temper. Honest men are not
necessarily perfect men. They may be wrongheaded to almost any extent, - ignorant, prejudiced, overbearing, irritable, malicious even; but
it is contrary to their nature to be false. Honesty
of character is another name  for directness and
transparency of character; what is without corresponds to and indicates what is within; in one
word, the life is an acted truth, and not an
acted lie.
But who is likely to listen to a sermon on
honesty, as being personally interested in the appeal? Men are not slow to acknowledge themselves guilty of other sins, or at least extremely
liable to them,- the sins of ignorance or weakness, of passion or inconsideration; but who will
confess that he is dishonest? Who feels that he is
in much danger of becoming so?
What does more perhaps than any thing else to
create and foster this delusion is the verbal paradox, that a man may be honest and yet not bo
258 
HONESTY.
honest at the same time. That is to say, he may
be honest in one sense of the word and not honest
in another; for honesty is a word which is used
in different senses. Sometimes it stands for what
is called legal honesty, meaning thereby that sort
of honesty which is determined and enforced by
human laws.   Sometimes it stands for what is
called worldly honesty, meaning thereby that sort
of honesty which recognizes nothing higher than
public opinion as its motive, measure, and end.
And sometimes it stands for what alone should
be called Christian honesty, meaning thereby that
sort of honesty which consists in being honest
according to the gospel standard of honesty, for
its own sake, and in the fear of God.
Now I am willing to admit that most persons
moving about in respectable society are honest in
one or another of these ways. We hear a great
deal about " common honesty," and doubtless there
is a kind or degree of honesty which is common
enough. But who will say that this is true of
Christian honesty? And here it becomes us to
consider whether any of the other forms of
honesty are not essentially defective even as
honesty. In other words, must we not make a
distinction between real and nominal honesty,
just as we make a distinction between real and
nominal Christianity?
259 
HONESTY.
Consider, in the first place, how little claim a
man has to be regarded as really honest, who can
pretend to nothing better than legal honesty, the
honesty that never looks beyond or above human
laws for its rule or its sanction.  Human laws, as
everybody knows, do not even so much as aim or
profess to determine and enforce all right as such,
but only so much of right as is necessary to the
order and well-being of society.   Beyond this,
they very properly leave men to the restraints
of conscience, and public opinion, and the fear
of a future retribution.  Even, therefore, if hu man laws were perfect as far as they go, it would
by no means follow that it is enough to be honest
according to law. There are a multitude of ques tions of right and wrong daily arising in the inter course of society, which the laws do not touch;
and if in respect to these a man shows himself
regardless of moral principle, he shows himself to
be at bottom a dishonest man.   I say this ad visedly.   If when  the laws, for good reasons,
refuse to interfere, and devolve the whole matter
on conscience alone, a man's conscience also fails
to act, it shows that he has no conscience. It is
an abuse of language to say of such a man that
he is honest according to law, inasmuch as his
obedience to law does not spring from a sense
of right. Unless a man acts from a principle of
260 
HONESTY.
honesty, he is not, properly speaking, honest at
all. A man does not show himself to be really
honest, in any form or degree, by being honest
as long as the laws compel him to be so, but by
being honest when he is free to be so, or not, as
he pleases.
Besides, it is conceding too much in favor of
what is called legal honesty, to allow it to be
assumed that the laws themselves are always
what they should be. There are such things
as bad laws; and, though these can legalize
w    r    o    n     g,     they can hardly make      wrong t o  be  right.
Indeed, now that laws are made and unmade
with so much facility, and often under the disturbing influences of popular or party excitement, have we not almost as much to apprehend
from wrong-doing under color and sanction of
law, as from wrong-doing in open violation of
law? Yet I suppose all will agree, that wrongdoing in either case is wrong-doing. If there is
such a thing as being honest according to law,
there is also such a thing as being dishonest according to law. Certainly I cannot be mistaken
here. If I do what I know and feel to be unfair or overreaching, an iniquitous law may be
f     o     und                 to screen me; but what of that? It
may keep me from being actually treated as a
dishonest man;                                            but will it keep me from de
"i T,
261 
HONESTY.
serving to be so treated?  I do not say but that,
under a free government like ours, a bad law is
to be submitted to, until it is repealed by the
proper authorities, merely because it is the law.
It is one thing, however, to submit to a bad
law, - that is, to suffer under it,- and quite another to take advantage of it; the latter being in
all cases, as it seems to me, neither more nor
less than making use of one wrong to justify
or excuse another.
Thus does it appear that legal honesty, meaning thereby that sort of honesty that can be, and
is, enforced by human laws, is radically and essentially defective, even as honesty. It is so, in the
first place, because human laws are sometimes
bad and iniquitous in themselves; in the second
place, because these laws however good in themselves are sometimes made, through the imperfection of human foresight and human language,
to cover cases of substantial injustice; and in the
third and last place, because human laws even
when right in themselves, and rightly executed
and applied as far as they go, do not even so
much as aim or profess to determine and enforce
all right as such, but only so much of right as is
necessary to the public welfare. I do not mean
that there is no honesty in obedience to the laws,
or that any man can be honest, in a community
262
III 
HONESTY.
like ours, without such obedience; but this I say:
the proof of his honesty, instead of beginning
where this obedience begins, begins rather where
this obedience ends. To prove that we are honest,
we must persist in doing what is right, not only
as long as the laws stand ready to coerce it, but
also when, firom any cause, they leave us free to
do otherwise.
Let us next inquire how it is with worldly
honesty,- the honesty, I mean, which has no better foundation than a regard for public opinion
and worldly success. This, I hardly need say,
is sometimes better, and sometimes worse, than a
strictly legal honesty. It is sometimes better, because public opinion for the time being may be
in advance of the laws, and require more; on the
other hand, it is sometimes worse, because public
opinion, for the time being, may fall behind the
laws, and require less. In the latter case, the best
of laws, though unrepealed, are apt to become
either wholly or in part a dead letter.   Making
the most of worldly honesty, it is but another
iame for what may be called the average virtue
in the community, for the time being, with this
distinction, that it supposes some degree of reflectionl and forethought. It is the virtue of men who
are wise in their generation, and think to find in
worldly wisdom alone a sufficient foundation and
263 
HONESTY.
guarantee of upright conduct. It is the virtue of
men who are for ever recurring to the maxim that
" honesty is the best policy; " who think it is only
necessary for men to know what their interest is,
and they will do what is right; who would fain
resolve all crime into ignorance or mistake, and
cannot find it in their hearts to say any thing
worse of sin, than that it is a great blunder.
Now unquestionably there is much truth in
these assumptions; it is not however the whole
truth, and nothing but the truth. A Christian
should be the last person in the world to deny that
"honesty is the best policy."  God has made it to
be so in all cases. It is not only the greatest rule,
but there are no real or imaginable exceptions to
the rule, so long as all a man's interests are taken
into the account. In no case whatsoever is it corn sistent with a man's interests to deviate, though
but for a hair's breadth, from strict right, if by "a
man's interests " are meant all his interests. But
if we are going to restrict our view to a part of his
interests, and to the lowest and most inconsider able part, that alters the case. It is by no means
so clear but that some deviations from strict right
may be consistent with a part of a man's interests,
- with those, for example, which pertain to this
world. It may still be true, as doubtless it is,
even if we look not beyond this life, that honesty
2C)4
.III 6r  
HONESTY.
is the best policy as a general rule; but who will
say that it is a rule which admits absolutely of no
exceptions? And the mischief of these exceptions
does not end with leaving virtue unsupported,
when they actually occur. The idea that there
are exceptions will tempt every person, who is
solely tried, to believe or to assume that the
case in hand is one of them; and he will act
accordingly.
I come, therefore, to this conclusion: even if
policy of any kind were sufficient of itself to make
a man honest, it would not be worldly policy. It
must be a policy which comprehends all a man's
interests, - the interests of his soul as well as
those of his body, the interests of eternity as well
as those of time; in short, it must be Christian
policy: otherwise it would be essentially defective
even as policy.
But I am far from believing that policy, of any
name or nature, is to be regarded as the legitimate
ground, or as a sufficient safeguard of strict honesty.
Those who think it enough to demonstrate that
"honesty is the best policy" would seem to proceed on the assumption, that every man takes that
courst which he is convinced will be for his interest
in the long irun.  But is it so?  Dismiss, for a
moment, all theories on the subject, and look at
facts.   Take  that vast catalogue  of vices and
265
12
!' ('i 
EHONESTY.
crimes which originate in disordered appetite or
unbridled passion. Do you suppose that the men
who give way to these temptations really think
the)y are consulting their interests here or hereafter;
that they are doing what it is good policy to do?
No! a thousand times, no!  If you still entertain
any doubts on the subject, go and ask them in
moments when thought returns, and they will answer you just as I have done, mingling the confession with  bitter imprecations  on  their  owni
weakness and folly.
On this point we must guard against a mistaken
ilnference from men's acknowledged selfishness.
Men are selfish; but it is a selfishness which, when
left to itself, looks not to self-advantage but to
sef-indulyence, and to self-indulgence at any cost.
You may think to find an exception to this remark
in the griping and pinching habits of the miser;
but it is an exception in appearance only. Even
he is not counting on any real and substantial
benefits as the reward of his labors and sacrifices;
he does but yield to the blind impulse of a present
passion, the greed of gain.
No: what we chiefly need is not more selfishness,
Heaven knows; but more principle, - a reverence
for what is right, fidelity and devotion to duty.
And this is precisely that state of mind which
Christianity aims to induce. It is taking a most
266
II 10i, 
HONESTY.
unworthy view of the gospel, to suppose it contents itself with setting before us life and death,
heaven and hell, and leaving them to act as they
may on the selfishness of our nature. The aim of
our Saviour's teachings, I might almost say their
whole purport and end, is to excite, develop, and
enli,ghten our moral  and spiritual faculties; to
create within us a spontaneous aversion and disgust for what is mean and base; to awaken and
call out disinterested and inextinguishable aspirations for what is pure and noble, and a living
and all-sustaining, sense of the Divine presence and
agency. When this change is wrought upon us, and
not before, we may hope to comprehend the full
import of that dark Scripture, "Whosoever is born
of God doth not commit sin; for his seed remaineth in him, and he cannot sin, because he is
born of God."
Taking this view of honesty, who will say that
the subject is not a proper one for the Christian
pulpit at all times? If I went no further than to
recommend legal honesty, or worldly honesty, or
even a pagan or deistic honesty, it might be otherwise.   The old cry might be raised, "You are
preaching no more than what Socrates and Seneca
preached."   But certainly neither Socrates nor
Seneca ever preached Christian honesty; the
honesty that finds its law, its spirit, and its tests
267
III t i1 
.HONESTY.
in the New Testament. The indiscriminate offence
taken by some, at what they call "moral preach ing," grows  out  of confounding  together  two
propositions which are very far firom being iden tical. They say that religion is one thing, and
morality another; and this is true. They go on to
say, as if it were to repeat the same doctrine in
other words, that Christianity is one thing, and
morality another; but this is not true. The reason
is that the gospel everywhere inculcates a peculiar
morality as well as a peculiar religion; so that the
former is just as much Christianity as the latter.
Do  not understand me  to say one word against
evangelical faith, or evangelical piety: all I ask for
is that to these may be added more and more of
evangelical honesty.
There is call for this exhortation in all sects, and
especially in those which make the greatest pre tensions to sanctity and zeal.  Whose fault is it,
that men of business are put on their guard when
they find themselves dealing with one who assumes
to be more than usually religious? Is it not be cause long experience has taught them that the
honesty of professed Christians is often a very different  thing  from  Christian  honesty?  Is this
scandal to last for ever?  Christianity will never
stand before the world on the vantage-ground it
ought to hold, until those who claim to represent
268
III vT'i 
HIONESTY.
it are known, not by the badges of this or that
sect, but by the singular purity and rectitude of
their conduct. And this suggests the best criterion by which to determine the comparative merits
of rival creeds.   One is best for one thing, and
another for another. One induces reverence for
authority; another stirs the religious emotions; a
third makes missionaries and martyrs. All this is
well as far as it goes; but the result is not a complete and well-balanced Christian character. The
best form of religion is that which assigns a proper
place to reverence, to the emotions, and to zeal, but
lays its principal stress on the doctrine that, to be accepted of God, a man must be good,-thoroughly
good, honest, trustworthy, in all the relations of
life. The best form of religion is that which leads
men to respect one another, and deal fairly with
one another; the worst form of religion is that
which leads men to hate or despise one another.
Let me add that the inculcation of strict probity and incorrutptibleness is doubly necessary in seasons of great social and political disturbance. It
is sometimes said that war, even a civil war, is favorable to the higher virtues; and so in a certain
sense it is. It offers frequent occasions for heroic
deeds; it calls for self-denial and self-sacrifice in
tones of unwonted power; it is also a school for
the manly qualities of courage and endurance, of a
269 
HONESTY.
generous patriotism and a lofty ambition.  All this
I freely admit; but I must qualify it by observing,
that opportunities are afforded, at the same time,
for gianit frauds;  that the restraining power of
public opinion is disordered, and on some subjects
wholly perverted; ill fine, that minds, and good
minds too, become so intent on success as to be
more or less unscrupulous about the means.  In
this state of things, why wonder that measures
should be sometimes advocated, and men upheld,
on principles to which nothing but the blinding
and corrupting influences of the terrible struggle
could reconcile a people of any pretensions to
justice and honor.
To counteract such tendencies let the pulpit
be faithful to its high function, and amidst the
din of conflicting interests and passions hold up
the Christian standard of a perfect righteousness.
Woe to those who traffic in the public distresses
and perplexities with a view to dishonest gains!
Woe to those who palter with the public conscience, even though it is with a mistaken view to
the public good! Our country, in this hour of her
extreme peril, expects great sacrifices from us, but
not the sacrifice of integrity and honor. We believe that the right is on our side: let us stand on
that right, and glorify it by a conduct worthy of
the great and solemn issue! Not only the future of
270 
HO.VESTY.
our own country, but that of freedom and human
rights everywhere, is at stake: the battle is fought
in the face of a world from which we look for little
sympathy; still the danger is not that we shall be
slain by the sword, but that we shall fail to exhibit
a degree of private and public virtue equal to the
exigency, - that we shall not have union enough,
or magnanimity enough, or Christian principle
enough to save us from a general demoralization, in
which our own honor and the best hopes of mankind will go down together.  Whatever calamities
befall us, may God in his infinite mercy vouchsafe
that righteousness which is the glory and the
strength of a Christian nation, and avert that sin
which is the reproach and ruin of any people!
1861.
271
u 
272  THE DANGERS OF COLLEGE LIFE.
XVI.
THE DANGERS OF COLLEGE LIFE.
"Ye, therefore, beloved, seeing ye know these things before, beware lest ye
also, being led away with the error of the wicked, fall from your own
steadfastness. -2 PETER  iii. 17.
N speaking of his early days, MAr. Gibbon ob     serves: "Every time I have since passed over
Putney Common, I have always noticed the spot
where my mother, as we drove along in the coach,
admonished me  that I was now going into the
world, and must learn to think and act for myself."
I am not surprised at the deep and indelible im pression which this simple fact, on account of its
connections, appears to have left on the mind of
the great historian.   He had arrived at one of
those critical periods in the life of man, where
much would depend on the way in which he should
begin.  He had just left, perhaps for the first time,
the constant and countless restraints of home; he
would soon find himself in a new situation, in the
midst of strange faces, beset by unaccustomed dif ficulties and temptations, and would there be called 
THE DANGERS OF COLLEGE LIFE. 273
upon, with the scanty stock of experience he must
be supposed already to have acquired, to shape his
course by his own unassisted discretion as he best
could.
Thus it is, that, under the same or like circumstances, the entrance of any young man into the
little world of a large public school or college,
where by necessity he must be left, for the most
part, to think and act for himself, constitutes no
ordinary trial of character. But it is a satisfaction
to know that whoever sees fit to meet it with
upright intentions, and a good share of forethought, self-distrust, and self-control, will find
himself equal to this trial. And, if he succeeds
here, it is the best earnest he can possibly give
of success in after-life; for the foundation of human trial, and the foundation of our superiority
to it, are everywhere substantially the same. All
turns on the single question, whether we call safely
be trusted with the liberty to think and act for
ourselves. To do right under constraint, when we
are not free to do otherwise, is nothing: one man
will do it as well as another. It is only when this
constraint is relaxed, and men are put to a considerazle extent under their own keeping, and
called upon to think for themselves and act for
themselves, that the great distinctions among them
arise. He only who knows how to use his liberty
12*-  
274  THE DANGERS OF COLLEGE LIFE.
without abusing it, succeeds; and he who knows
how to do this in one place will be likely to know
how to do it in another.
As I have said, there is nothing in the trials of
a college life to deter or dishearten a person of
good  and  strong  purposes.  Still it would be
treachery of the worst kind to hold out the lure
of safety and ease, - to affirm, or to imply, or to
allow it to be presumed, that the failures are not
frequent, or that the dangers are not many and
great.   And  what makes it worse in respect to
many of these dangers is, that often they are not
suspected, or, which amounts to the same thing in
practice, not sufficiently considered until it is too
late. For this reason I have thought it would be
well to begin the religious instructions of the
academic year by calling your attention to some of
the dangers peculiarly incident to an academic life:
so that, knowing these things before, you may be
less likely to be led away with the error of the
wicked, and fall from your own steadfastness.
One of these dangers, though occurring here, is
to be referred to causes which the student brings
along with him;  I mean  his constitutional predispositions. It was a favorite notion of some of
the French philosophers, in which they were followed  but  too  closely  by  our  Franklin, that
mankind in general come into the world with pre 
THE DANGERS OF COLLEGE LIFE. 275
cisely the same rational endowments, all the differences which afterwards arise originating in differences of education. Few, if any, will be found
to entertain this doctrine now, the tendency of
common opinion and of the popular philosophy
being to the opposite extreme. Great stress is now
laid on distinctions of race and blood; innate and
often hereditary biasses are thought to influence,
and for the most part to determine, the whole life;
and men are found who are fain to read in the
organization of the child his future destiny. This,
as I have said, is the other extreme; it supposes
us to be born with propensities which it is the
work of life to manifest, and not to govern and
control. Obviously however it is so far founded
in truth as this, that some men have strong constitutional predispositions to excess or defect in one
direction, whilst others have equally strong constitutional predispositions to excess or defect in
another: and hence their principal danger.
And the danger in this case is made tenfold
greater, if thie individual does not know himself;
if he will not consider the errors to which, from
his constitution and temperament, he is peculiar]y
exposed; in short, if from any cause he will not
acknowledge even to himself his besetting sins.
Some there are who are slow to confess to besetting
sins of any kind, because they are not conscious of 
276 THE DANGERS OF COLLEGE LIFE.
desiring any evil for its own sake; but such persons
entirely mistake what is meant by a besetting sin.
A besetting sin, as here understood, does not suppose a man to desire evil for its own sake, but only
that he desires something else so inordinately, that
he is always in danger of doing evil in order to
gratify this desire. For example; it may be the
love of ease, or the love of company, or the love
of pleasure, or the love of display. Now it is not
pretended that ease, or company, or pleasure, or
display is bad in itself, that is to say, in its proper
place and degree.  But if all a man's constitutional
leanings incline him to one of these forms of
gratification, the danger is that, in order to gain it,
he will not scruple to sacrifice or neglect more
important objects, and so fall into transgression.
We are not to blame for our constitutional predispositions; we cannot help them if we would:
but we can know them if we would, and we can
consider them in every thing we do; always remembering that the great question is not what is
safe for others, but what is safe for us; always
remembering, also, that the price of safety is perpetual vigilance.
Another form of danger  incident to college
life grows out of hastily-formed and ill-assorted
friendships and intimnacies.  One of the most perplexing facts in Divine Providence is, that we 
THE DANGERS OF COLLEGE LIFE.  277
should be responsible for our characters, and yet
that our characters should depend so much on the
conduct of others. A young man, probably without confirmed principles, for these generally suppose
long experience and a confirmed faith, but with
upright intentions and good impulses, comes under
the influence of a stronger mind than his own, and
how apt he is to become but little more than a
reflection of that stronger mind! Thus it is that
the ascendancy, and the social and winning qualities, of a single bad man will blight the prospects
and sometimes utterly ruin the hopes of many, not
only for this world but also for the world to come.
Nevertheless, it is proper to observe that in all
such cases the victims are, to a certain extent,
willing victims: they cannot be thus used until
they consent to be thus used. Hence their fall,
considered as a difficulty in Providence and a
moral anomaly, is, in some measure at least, cleared
up; for, by allowing others to destroy them, they
may  be said, in some sense, to destroy themselves.
But these are not the only ill-assorted friendships
and intimacies to which a community like this may
be expected to give birth.  As has been intimated
before, there are few persons so happily constituted
by nature as not to be troubled by a constant leaning to one side or the other, which must be resisted, 
278  THE DANGERS OF COLLEGE LIFE.
or they would fall. These leanings, however, are
different in different persons; and where, as some  times happens, this is the case with iniitimate friends,
it may even be said that the faults of one help to
balance and correct the faults of the other; so that
both are made better by the intercourse. But I
hardly need say, that the contrary is more likely to
happen; especially with persons of but little re  flection, who are drawn together unconsciously by
the very fact that they have so many tastes, or, it
may be, so many failings, or so many dangerous
propensities, in common. Because they like to do
the samne things, they are likely to go together,  the indolent with the indolent, the reckless with
the reckless, the pleasure-loving with the pleasure  loving.  And what is likely to be the consequence?
Plainly this, that they will encourage and stimulate
each other to act out, and to act out with less and
less reserve, inclinations which it should be the
labor of their lives to restrain and repress. Thus,
without pretensions to much power of any kind,
without any bad purpose or disposition, nay, under
strong and perhaps sincere professions of love and
regard, they contrive to do each other precisely the
* greatest harm of which they are susceptible, that
is, break each other down at the very point where
they are least likely to recover.
Of the same general description is another 
THE DANGERS OF COLLEGE LIFE. 279
danger almost sure to grow up in a community,
the members of which think and act by themselves,
being isolated to a considerable extent from the
rest of the world. I mean the danger resulting
fiom an artificial state of public opinion, and an
artificial, and consequently more or less unsound,
standard of manners and morals. It is a mistake
to suppose that firiendships and intimacies are
forced upon us by the single circumstance that we
are constrained to live together, as in a ship, a
camp, or a college.  Each one is still at liberty,
and is generally found, in point of fact, to exercise
the liberty, to choose his intimates according to his
own inclinations and tastes. Over all, however, by
common though it may be tacit consent, certain
rules and maxims gradually acquire the authority
of law, which persons possessing no more than
ordinary strength and independence of character
can hardly be expected to disown, or even so much
as call in question.  On these points, therefore,
thleir conduct, instead of being as it ought to be
a manly expression of their own individual convictions of duty, is always in danger of degenerating
into a mere echo of the general voice, a timid and
servilt acting out of the general will.
I am not disposed to speak disparagingly, on the
whole, of the sort of public opinion which is apt
to be generated in a community of young men, 
280 THE DANGERS OF COLLEGE LIFE.
whose bond of union is the common pursuit of
liberal studies. As a general rule, I believe it is
singularly free from the alloy of meanness, selfish ness, and untruthfulness of every kind, and that
its very errors may be traced for the most part
either to an excess, or to a misapplication, of
principles which are in themselves eminently
good. Still, it can hardly be without permanent
injury to a man's moral nature, that he should
subscribe himself slave to any artificial and arbi trary rule; and besides, we  must not shut our
eyes on the fact that no principles have done so
much harm in the world as perversions of the
best principles. Some may think that there is no
real danger in this case, because every student on
leaving college, if not before, is found to disclaim
and ridicule the rules and maxims here complained
of, as a matter of course.  But why disclaim and
ridicule them as a matter of course, if they are felt
to be just and safe? Moreover, is there no danger
that the habit once formed of submitting to a
factitious standard of right in the place of con science, will be continued, the only change l)eing
in the factitious standard itself, and this, too, prob ably a change for the worse?  Is there no danger
that the habit of a weak or timid conformity here
may turn out to be a training for that conformity to
the world, which the gospel takes occasion to con 
THE DANGERS OF COLLEGE LIFE. 281
demn more frequently and more strenuously, perhaps, than any other error or sin?
The other dangers peculiarly incident to a college life originate in mistaken notions of the nature and extent of education, and of the proper
motives to study.
Let me begin what I have to say onl this topic
by disclaiming all sympathy with those who condemn altogether a regard for distinction as expressed in the approbation of wise and good men.
In the first place, I cannot bring myself to look
on such condemnation as just to human nature,
or as being, in most instances at least, sincere.
Furthermore, we need, we imperiously need, the
good opinion of others to encourage and assure
us in the course we have begun.  Certainly we
must not study for distinction in itself considered,
but for distinction as evidence that we deserve it,
- an evidence peculiarly necessary and therefore
peculiarly welcome to humble, distrustful, and ingenuous minds. At the same time there is evident
danger that, in the rivalries among students, they
may look exclusively or mainly to immediate distinction; that they may strive for the premature;
that *they may not be willing to labor patiently
and untiringly for a distant good; that they may
think that the love of distinction may be substituted for the love of excellence. There is no 
282 THE DANGERS OF COLLEGE LIFE.
such  thing.  An  aphorism, which  a truly dis tinguished son of this college inscribed on the
walls of his studio, is applicable to every form of
mental effort.  "No genuine work of art ever was,
or ever can be, produced but for its own sake; if
the painter does not conceive to please himself, he
will not finish to please the world."
Again, the student is always in danger of not
sufficiently considering that the paramount object
of education, and especially of a general and preliminary education, is not to fill the mind, but to
strengthen and enlarge it.  It has sometimes been
said that the training of animals is better understood than the training of men; for in the former
case the whole aim is to form the animal to the
qualities required.   Perhaps it will be objected
that qualities cannot be taught; and this is true;
but they can be developed, which amounts to the
same thing in effect, the result being that those
have them, who otherwise would not. Therefore
it is, that, ill regard to any study pursued at
school, or in college, the great question is not, of
what use will be the knowledge it will impart,
but of what use will it be, considered as a means
of exercising and disciplining the mind itself.
Look at the persons who  have succeeded best in
the various departments of human industry; inquire into their history, and you will find them 
THE DANGERS OF COLLEGE LIFE. 283
to owe their success much less to the stock of
knowledge which they brought with them into active life than to their personal qualities,- that is,
to previously formed habits of attention and observation, of activity, presence of mind, self-control,
and the power of concentrating their entire and
utmost energies on the business in hand.
But if there is danger in neglecting the cultivation of the mental qualities mentioned above, how
much greater that which consists in neglecting the
cultivation of the conscience and the heart! I
have spoken of success in life; but a moment's
reflection must convince every one that this is
not the ultimate object of education. The ultimnate object of education is happiness considered
as the fruit of duty and usefulness. Success in
life may be looked to, I grant, as one of the
means of usefulness and happiness, and as such
be provided for in a judicious education; but,
viewed under this relation, it is not worthy to
be  compared  with  the  unavoidable  influences,
either for good or for evil, of temper and character.  The world is full of examples of what is
called success in life, without any thing which
deserves the name of happiness, content, or self,respect. Nay, should you have any doubts on
this subject, let me ask you to bring the qutestionl to the test of your own experience.  Put 
284 THIE DANGERS OF COLLEGE LIFE.
all you have suffered from outward adversities
into one scale, and all you have suffered fiom a
mortified vanity and pride, from  a disappointed
ambition, firom hasty or ill-goveined passions, and
from a guilty conscience into the other, and see
which preponderates. In short, when education,
from any cause, is divorced from  morals, when
it is sought after and obtained as a mere power,
with no security that  this power will not be
abused, its principal recommendation is gone, and
the old question returns, not without reason,
whether after all it is a blessing or a curse.
Let me conclude by adverting to a danger in
education more fundamental still; I mean the
danger of thinking to find any other basis for
character but religious principle and the Christian faith. I speak not here of religious dogmas;
but of a religious spirit, of the religious sentiment,
of religion considered as an element, or rather as
the foundation, of character, which is found to
subsist in almost equal perfection under the
greatest diversity of religious dogmas. What we
need is to be trained from the beginning in the
lhabitual recognition of the constant presence,
3agency, and government of Almighty God.  What
we need is, that our hearts, before they have
become fixed and hardened by worldly influlences, may be touched to higher issues, may learn 
THE DANGERS OF COLLEGE LIFE.  285
to respond to higher relations and a highler destiny; in one word, that what is divine ill our own
souls may be so quickened and developed as to
b)ring us into communication with what is divine
in nature, in Scripture, and in life. Let this be
neglected, let the neglect become general, and I
do not lbelieve that a high and pure virtue could
be maintained; above all, I do not believe that
civil liberty would be either practicable or desirable. There never has been but one experiment
on a large scale, to see whether men can live
together in society without religion, and you
know  the result.  Robespierre himself, "in his
remarkable discourse on the restoration of publie worship, denounced atheism as inconsistent
with equality, and a crime of the aristocracy;
and asserted the existence of a Supreme Being,
who protects the poor and rewards the poor, as
a popular consolation, without which the people
would despair."
I have discoursed of the dangers and difficulties
which encompass the student from the beginning.
But I am unwilling to quit the subject without
repeating what I have said before; it is a pleasure
and'atisfaetion to know that to many these dangers and difficulties exist only to be overcome, and
so to be turned into occasions of triumph. To
persons of good and strong purposes the promise 
286 THE DANGERS OF COLLEGE LIFE.
of the gospel is fulfilled: "Behold I give unto
you power to tread on serpents and scorpions,
and over all the power of the enemy; and nothing, shall by any means hurt you."
Preeminently among such was the young member of this society, the intelligence of whose recent, sudden, and, as we in our shortsightedness
are tempted to say, untimely death has filled all
our hearts with sadness.1 So happily was he constituted by nature, that all his prevailing tastes
and inclinations seemed to be to good. Again,
he could suffer but little from ill-assorted friendships and intimacies, as he was led to seek companionship only as a means of self-improvement,
of generous ambitionii, or of innocent pastime.
He  also knew how to conform  to the  conventionalities of the place as far as a genial temper
and all unselfish prudence required, without the
sacrifice of that moral  independence  which  he
taught others to respect by respecting it himself.
Finally, we have reason to believe that he never
essentially mistook the motive or the end of a
truly Christian education; which is to fit man
for the performance of the highest duties from
the highest principles.   For ever blessed be the
memory of one who has recommended goodness, by
1 The allusion is to JOHN N. MEAD, of Brattleboro', Vt., a
member of the Class of 1851. 
THE DANGERS OF COLLEGE LIFE.  287
combining with the qualities which command our
reverence, the qualities which win our love.
His work is accomplished. Much of ours remains to be done; and this too, as we have seen,
in the face of formidable dangers and difficulties:
so much so, that it would be with a heavy heart
that I should bid you go on, if I could not bid
you at the same time, "God speed."   "As  an
eagle stirreth up her nest, fluttereth over her
young, spreadeth abroad her wings, taketh them,
beareth them on her wings,-so the Lord alone
will lead you. Even the youths shall faint and
be weary, and the young men shall utterly fall.
But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew
their strength; they shall mount up with wings
as eagles; they shall run and not be weary, and
they shall walk and not faint."
1850. 
WHITE LIES.
XVII.
WHITE LIES.
"For if the truth of God hath more abounded through my lie unto his
glory, why yet am I also judged as a sinner? "- ROMANS  iii. 7.
OME  confusion has been introduced into our
reasonings on moral subjects by not marking
carefully the distinction between truth and veracity. Truth, in its primary acceptation, is not a
quality of character, but a quality of statements.
A statement is either true or false; that is, it does
or does not accord with the facts in the case.
But even if it be false, a man may utter it and yet
not be guilty of lying; because he may utter it,
believing it to be true.  Such a man may be said
to want the truth; that is to say he is in error, he
is mistaken: but he cannot be said to want veracity; he tells the truth as he understands it.
Accordingly we have no right to blame a man
merely because his statements are not true.  This
is an objection to the statements, but it is no objection to the man, if he really thinks them to be
true, and has taken proper pains to inform himself.
288 
WHITE LIES.
What we have a right to blame a man for is the
want of veracity, the want of a disposition and
intention to speak the truth. Here the imputation extends, as you will observe, to the man himself. It supposes something to be wrong not only
in the statement, but in the man who makes the
statement.
Hence it-by no means follows that every false
statement is a lying statement; for to make it such
it must be uttered by one who believes it to be
false.
A candid and generous application of this obvious
distinction, in the every-day intercourse of society,
would make men slower than they commonly are
to impeach each other's veracity, how much soever
they might still distrust each other's information or
judgment. They would see that a large proportion of the popular delusions, unfounded calumnies,
and idle rumors in circulation in the community,
can be satisfactorily accounted for and explained,
without ascribing them to intentional and deliberate perversion of the truth. I do not mean that
a man who is always ready, on slight grounds, to
take up with a report injuriously affecting his
neighbor, and assist in spreadiing, it, is innocent.
Neither do I mean that the dealers in crude and
disorganizing theories in philosophy, politics, or
religion are innocent.  Such men are not innocent.
289
13
8 
WHITE LIES.
Far from it. But, generally speaking, their fault
does not consist in lying; that is, in a conscious
purpose to deceive or mislead. Their fault consists, rather, in hasty and rash judgmnent, in an
overweening conceit in their own abilities, in mistaking a love of novelty anid paradox for a love of
truth, or in not taking sufficient care to guard
against a credulous  turn of mind.  And  it is
absolutely essential that he who undertakes to
expose and correct their fault should consider this.
HIlow can you expect to cure a man of a fault
of which he is really guilty, by accusing him of
another fault of which he knows he is not guilty?
These men believe what they say, just as much as
you believe what you say. Their fault does not
consist in saying what they do not believe; but in
believing on insufficient grounds and under wrong
biasses, in over-confidence in what they believe,
and in the presumption and injustice to which this
over-confidence leads. The weakest of all weaknesses is, to suspect everybody who differs from us
of insincerity.
Most persons, perhaps, will be willing to concede
this in favor of the ignorant multitude, the deluded
masses, the blind followers, as they are called; but
not so as regards the leaders. Such a man, we
often hear it said, must know better.  But he may
not after all. The ways of self-mystification, the
290 
WHITE LIES.
artifices of self-deceit, transcend by far, both in number and in subtilty, what is commonly supposed.
And besides, credulity is an inborn propensity of
some minds, so thoroughly ingrained that no kind
or degree of teaching or experience can effectually
work it out of their constitution.  Hence we often
meet with very learned and very ingenious men
who are among the easiest to be imposed upon;
especially if the folly or the cheat can be made to
wear a learned and ingenious look. If I were
bent on propagating a new extravagance, I would
rather take my chance, at least in most cases, with
thinking and speculative men than with plain,
practical men;  and for this  reason.   I should
expect to find less difficulty in persuading the
former than the latter to drop the substance and
catch at the shadow,- that is to say, at a theory.
History, rightly read, confirms what has been
said. If the truth were known, I suspect it would
be found that, in most instances, the authors and
principal instigators of the great popular delusions
have differed from their followers chiefly in this,
that they were among the first to be entirely
carried away by the delusion. Who doubts, at
the p'resent day, that Mohammed  and Cromwell
entered on their career in good faith, and that, but
for this, nothing but defeat and disgrace would
have waited on their imbecile presumption?
291 
WHITE LIES.
I do not mean that such persons are never guilty
of prevarication and insincerity in particular things,
in order to help the delusion over a difficulty or
round a corner; but I do mean that in regard to
the delusion itself they are generally, - not always,
but generally, at least at the beginning, -honest.
There is more or less of lying mingled, I am afraid,
with almost every life; but I do not believe that it
is common to find a life which is built on a lie.
You will perceive how slow I am to give credit
to charges of wholesale lying, which malice, jeal ousy, or narrow-mindedness is so ready to bring
against individuals, and even against whole sects
or parties. This, however, does not hinder me
from suspecting and believing that there is a vast
deal of lyiig, in a small way; and, what is more
and worse, a disposition everywhere to justify or
excuse it, on the ground that though these are lies,
they are white lies. I have no faith in this distinc tion. I do not believe it has any proper foundation
in reason or Scripture. Let us not be misled by
names. Show that the error is not a lie; resolve
it into ignorance, misunderstanding, illusion of any
kind, and all is well; at any rate, it is not a lie:
but admit it to be a lie, and I do not believe that it
is ill the power of any ingenuity of construction or
explanation to wash it entirely white.
On this hint I am going to speak.  I am not
292 
WHI TE LIES.
going to speak of gross lying, the baseness and
turpitude of which all the world is loud enough to
condemn, but of these so-called white lies, which
partake as it seems to me, in different degrees, of
the same baseness and turpitude, and from which
in point of fact the bulk of the community have
much the most to fear, both in themselves and in
others.
The principal reason why so many are ready to
acquiesce in the distinction in favor of white lies,
is to be found in their superficial and inadequate
views of what constitutes the sin of lying. They
make it to consist wholly or chiefly in the harm
done the individual to whom the lie is told, or, at
most, in the social evils or inconveniences occasioned, directly or indirectly, thereby. Without
doubt these are important considerations as far as
they go, and are to be taken into account in estimating the aggravations of the offence, and the
motives which should deter us from committing it;
but they do not constitute the essence of the sin.
The essence of the sin of lying, as such, does not
consist in the injury done to others, but in the
wrong done to our own souls, through the violation of that eternal law of truth which God has
wrought into our moral constitution, through the
stifling or overruling of the instinet or sentiment
of veracity, which no man whose heart is right can
293
I I 
WHITE LIES.
do, without being self-condemned. If I purposely
injure my neighbor by lying, I commit a double
crime, the crime of malice and the crime of false hood, the crime of malice in addition to the crime of
falsehood. In other words, I commit one crime by
means of another. And in this case, the criminality
of the means does not depend on the criminality of
the end; the malice does not make the lying to be
criminal, any more than the lying makes the malice
to be criminal: both are criminal, each in its own
essential and unalterable nature. For this reason,
the great question is, as it seems to me, not
whether other men under certain circumstances
have, or have not, a right to the truth, but whether
we, under any circumstances, have a right know ingly to utter an untruth; not whether duplicity
and deception will be good or evil in particular
instances or in view of general consequences, but
whether duplicity and deception are not evils in
themselves; and if so, whether we have a right to
do evil that good may come; or, for it comes.to
this at last, whether the end sanctifies the means.
And what say the Scriptures?  "Lying lips are
an abomination to the Lord."   "Putting away
lying, speak every man truth with his neighbor."
"Ye shall not steal, neither deal falsely, neither lie
one to another." "Knowing this, that the law is not
made for a righteous man, but for the lawless and
294
!''I II 
WHITE LIES.
disobedient, for the ungodly and sinners, for the
unholy and profane, for murderers of fathers and
murderers of mothers, for man-slayers, for manstealers, for liars, for perjured persons, and if there
be any other thing that is contrary to sound doctrine."  I quote these passages, because to Christians they are, as it seems to me, decisive. Besides,
they are full of instruction, because, in the first
place, they show with what crimes lying is associated and classed in the Word of God, -with perjury and man-stealing and parricide. Not that the
heinousness and turpitude of the crimes thus
brought together are necessarily equal; but I
think that we have a right to infer that their guilt,
whatever may be its degree, is equally essential
and unalterable. Again, it is still more in point to
notice that, with respect to lying, there is no trace
in these passages that its guilt depends on the
circumstances, or the end aimed at.  Nothing is
said about white lies; we are not told never to lie
except when we think it will be harmless, or do
more good than harm; but the prohibition, according to any fair construction which I can put upon
the language, is as unconditional and unqualified
as that against murder, man-stealing, or theft.
If there are any on whom this appeal to
Scripture is thrown away, on the ground that the
Scriptures are nothing to them, let them at least
295 
WHITE LIES.
consider what is universally regarded as the point
of honor among men of the world. There is noth ing which men, who think at all of reputation,
resent so promptly and so indignantly as a question ing of their word, as a direct impeachment of their
veracity. Now if the mere imputation of this
crime gives such mortal affront, it must be because
the crime itself is accounted one of the basest;
otherwise we must conclude that the objection of
a man of honor is not to being a liar, but only to
being called one.  Neither can we, in consistency
with what is said about the disgrace of lying,
make distinctions in this vice. The disgrace of
lying, even in the opinion of the world, does not
depend on the uses to which it is put, or on the
mischief it does, b.ut on the fact that under any
and all circumstances it betrays a want of courage,
manliness, and sincerity. I come, therefore, to
this conclusion. Even if we lay the Bible out of
the account, and look only to the standard of the
world, either the exceeding sensitiveness every where manifested by gentlemen to the doubting of
their word is mere cant and hypocrisy, or they do
really feel that lying of itself, in every form and
degree, leaves an indelible stain on the character.
But on a purely practical subject like the present, it is not well to stop with generalities, which
nobody perhaps will dispute, and at the same
296 
WHI TE LIES.
time nobody will apply.  Let us, therefore, descend to particulars, and, taking up some of these
pretended white lies, look a little into their title
to be so regarded as innocent or venial.
I shall begin with lies of custom. Here we
must take care not to mix up questions which
have nothing to do with each other. Custom or
usage, I hardly need say, determines the meaning of language in all cases; and sometimes it
gives to a whole phrase, as in the instance of
the common subscription to a letter, a peculiar
significance different from the one it had originally, and different firom the one which grammiatical construction would give. But this has nothing
to do with the subject.  It is enough if a man uses
these phrases truly; that is to say in their customary import, so that he really means all he is
understood to mean. In such a case his language
stands in no need of indulgence on the plea of
being a white lie. It is no lie at all; no mutual
understanding is violated; no confidence is abused;
nobody is deceived or misled. But if by lies of
custom is meant that degree of real deception
which may happen to be customary in the community, and if the doctrine is, that deception to
this degree is allowable or venial, nothing can be
more false and dalngerous.  You might just as well
extend the same doctrine to other vices. You
13*
297 
WHITE LIES.
might just as well say that, where a certain de gree of intemperance or knavery is customary,
intemperance and knavery to that degree are
innocent. Accordingly when it is said that in
some professions, and in some kinds of business,
a strict adherence to truth is not expected, it is
not meant that it is not required, or that it is
not necessary, there as elsewhere, to integrity
and honor. What is meant is simply this, that,
in the situations referred to, the temptation to
swerve from integrity and honor is found to be
too strong for the principles of most men, so that
it is hardly to be expected in most men.
I turn next to lies of courtesy. Here, again,
there is occasion for discrimination.  There  are
splenetic and churlish men who condemn, with out distinction or reserve, what is termed polite ness in refined society, as being no better than
an acted lie. But is it so, - always, I mean?
What does a man profess or imply by politeness,
rightly understood? Simply that he is actuated
by a benevolent wish to make his presence agree able to the company. If, therefore, he is really
actuated as he ought to be, and as men some times certainly are, by a benevolent wish to make
his presence agreeable to the company, his polite ness does not lie; it speaks the truth. Genuine
Christian politeness is consistent with the utmost
298 
WHITE LIES.
sincerity and transparency of character. It is only
when we begin to resort to falsehood and deceptionI as a means of pleasing, and encumber those
whom we meet with protestations of regard which
we do not feel, and feed their vanity with flattering speeches, that our politeness begins to lie; and
then it begins to be a sin, and a sin without excuse.
In such cases, it is to no purpose to say that fools
only are deceived; for in the first place it is not
true; and  in the second place, even if it were
true, we have no right to deceive fools. And
besides, the great mischief of such politeness is
not that here and there an individual is deceived,
but that, in proportion as it prevails, a general suspicion and distrust is awakened, and everybody's
confidence in the openness and sincerity of social
intercourse is disturbed.
From lies of courtesy I pass to lies of humanity,
meaning thereby such as are told not to injure,
but to benefit others, from feelings of real tenderness and concern, and not of malice. Paley includes among white lies of this description those
which it is allowable to tell madmen for their own
advantage. But is such conduct, speaking generally, %vithinl the strict interpretation of Christian
duty? Even as regards the policy of tihe proceeding, those only should speak who are best qualified
by their experience and observation to pronounce
299 
WHITE LIES.
judgment in the case. A traveller in France, in
his account of one of the principal hospitals for
the insane in Paris, says that the great object
aimed at by the officers is, "to gain the  confi dence of the patients; and this object is gener ally attained by gentleness, by appearing to take
an interest in their affairs, by a decision of chlar acter equally remote firom the extremes of indul gelice and severity, and by the most scrupulous
observance of good faith. Upon the last condition,
particular stress seems to be laid by the head of
the institution, who  remarks,' that insane  per sons, like  children, lose all confidence  and  all
respect, if you  fail in your word  to them, and
they immiediately set their ingenuity to work to
deceive and circumvent  you.'"  Here  we have,
I doubt not, but a single illustration of what is
universally true.  The laws of God act together
in perfect harmony; there is never any clashing
between  what  is really expedient and what  is
really right; if we  could see to the bottom and
to the end of things, we should see that, in
every case, what prudence suggests as the wisest
course, and reason approves as the fittest course,
conscience also enjoins as the only right course.
But it is given to but few to see to the bottom
and to the end of things. Hence I do not be lieve that it is ever safe or justifiable to let our
300
I','I i 
WHITE LIES.
views of expediency, always uncertain and shortsighted, and liable to be perverted unconsciously
by our personal leanings, smother the moral instincts of our nature, or turn aside the acknowledged inculcations of the Divine Word, which
require that the law of truth should always
be in our mouth. The moment we begin to allow our notions of policy, or even of humanity,
to modify or overrule our notions of right and
wrong, of sincerity and deceit, we open a door
to abuses which no man can shut.
On the same bad plea some think to defend a
system of studied concealment, and at times even
of downright prevarication and falsehood, in intercourse with the sick and dying.  It is all done, we
are told, from real kindness of heart; and so perhaps it is; but it does not follow that it is done
wisely or innocently. The reason commonly assigned is, that to know the truth will discompose
the sick, aggravate their disease, perhaps shorten
their days. I do not believe that, in ordinary
eases, there is any ground whatever for this apprehension.   On  the  contrary,  I believe  that
entire openness and unreservedness of communication with the sick will help, in nine cases out
of ten, to brace up their energies; in one word,
that manly treatment will inspire manly feelings.
Besides, as it has been justly said, "there is a
301 
WHITE LIES.
peculiar inconsistency sometimes exhibited on
such occasions.  The persons who will not dis compose a sick man for the sake of his interests
in futurity, will discompose himl without scruple
if he has not made his will. Is a bequest of more
consequence to the survivor than a hope full of
immortality to the dying man?"  You may allege
that it is too late now for the dying man to do
any thing to prepare for eternity; but this is
more than you know. You do not know what,
in the secrecy of his soul, he has to do, nor how
long it will take him to do it, in order that he
may die in peace. You do not know how much
the penitence of a day, of an hour, of a minute,
may serve to reconcile him to God. But to this
you may reply that you are not afraid to take
the risk. If you could take the risk, the answer
would be pertinent, however presumptuous and
unsatisfactory: but you cannot take it; for this
plain reason, that it is not yours to take, but the
dying man's.   As, therefore, you cannot stand
between him and a peril, the magnitude of which,
whatever you may think about it, you do not and
cannot know, there is unspeakable presumption in
thus devolving it deliberately and purposely on
his undying soul.  The motive, I grant, may be
good, so far as a mistaken tenderness and humanity may deserve this appellation:  but who
802 
WHITE LIES.
that knows any thing about human nature, or
has turned over the pages of history, or has
moved about in society with his eyes open, has
yet to learn that some of the worst evils and
worst crimes to which we are liable, spring from
perversion and abuse of the best feelings?
It only remains for me to say one word of what
are often regarded as lies of high expediency and
necessity. We have nothing to do here with
stratagems in war, which are not so much lies as
surprises; no confidence is violated. But where
confidence is violated, it is by no means clear that
any degree of expediency, even of moral expediency, or that any pressure of necessity, will authorize or excuse a conscious departure from the law
of truth. Undoubtedly it is perfectly natural that
a good man should desire to keep up the spirits
of those who are acting with him in what he
holds to be a righteous cause; but if this cannot
be done except by means of false pretences, it is
better that their spirits should flag. Viewed in
the light of expediency alone, he will find, I
suspect, in the long run, not only that truth is
better than boasting, but that truth is better
than hnmediate or apparent success. Again, it
is perfectly natural that a man should wish to
preserve his life, nay, that he should think it
expedient to do so, even though at some ex
303 
WHITE LIES.
pense of sincerity; and this, too, not from pri vate but from public considerations, out of
reg,ard to the important services he may in that
event be able to render the cause of truth and
humanity. Is it certain, however, that he can not do more to build up that cause by dying for
it in good faith, without any stain on his honor
or purity, than by living for it and laboring for
it under the reproach of a tarnished name? Who
does not know that the Church, for one example,
actually gained more in influence and power from
the blood of the holy martyrs, than from the more
wily policy and the more protracted services of her
temporizing friends?   Nor is it to be forgotten
that the threatened evils, to be averted by the lie,
ought never to be set down as certain. The open
and fearless avowal of the truth commands respect,
inspires awe, even among bad men; and the intre pidity of onie's behavior in making this avowal, the
sobriety and dignified moderation of his courage,
and the reasonableness of his expostulations may
be such as to disarm a fiend.
But it is not given to all men to be heroes;
hence we should be slow to judge one another in
these high requisitions. It is enough to say that
the general plea for lies of expediency and lies of
necessity should be questioned at every step. It
is to dishonor the character and government of
304 
WHI TE LIES.
God, to suppose that he has made it expedient
or necessary in the constitution of the universe,
that men should lie, thus requiring in his works
what he has forbidden in lhis Word. It is possible
that good men may occasionally fall into this
error, and still be entitled to be regarded as
good  men; but they are not perfect men.   To
prove this, take the perfect character of Jesus,suppose him, in any case whatever, to have resorted to falsehood or artifice, either to save his
own life or that of his fiiends, to avert any calamity however formidable, or to hasten the triumph
of his cause, though that cause was the salvation
of the world: who does not perceive that it would
sink immeasurably the veneration now inspired by
his spotless and peerless virtue?
We may be unable effectually to promote a
worthy object except by some sacrifice of truth
and sincerity. If so, then it is certain that God
does not call on us to aid in that work, and we
should leave it to other and more suitable agents
whom God will raise up in his own time.  Onmnipotence can accomplish its eternal purposes without our help; certainly without the help of our
sins.'%et us put more trust in God. If we would
put more trust in God, we should find occasion to
put less trust in ourselves, and less still in the
world, and none at all in lies.
305
1851-1857.
T 
806 HOW TO MAKE THE SUN STAND STILL.
XVIII.
HOW TO MAKE THE SUN STAND STILL.
A NEW YEAR'S SERMON.
" So the sun stood still in the midst of heaven, and hasted not to go down
about a whole day." -JOSHUA x. 13.
EVERAL  Hebrew books are referred to by
the sacred writers, which are now lost.
Among these is the book of Jasher, being, as
the name would seem to import, a collection of
odes or ballads in which the exploits of the great
men of antiquity were celebrated. One of them
appears to have contained a highly poetical description of the victory which Joshua gained over
the five confederate kings; in the course of which
he is represented as commanding the sun to stand
still  and it obeyed him.
Many of the best scholars, Catholic as well as
Protestant, agree in making this passage signify
that the defeat which the Hebrews inflicted on
the Canaanites was as great as if the sun had 
HOW TO MAKE THE SUN STAND STILL. 307
stopped in the midst of heaven, and had thus
prolonged the day to twice its usual length.
This construction of the narrative may be correct, or not; at any rate it suggests, as a fit
topic for discourse at the commencement of
another year, the only way in which we can
make the sun stand still.  The amount of work
accomplished by us must be as great as if it had
stood still. Our days on earth were numbered
from the beginning: many of them are finished;
if, however, from this time we double our diligence in what we have to do, it will have the
effect to make each remaining day twice as long.
Ill other words, it will be the same in effect as if
Joshua's miracle were repeated, in respect to us,
every day.
To enter illnto the truth and full significancy of
this statement, it will be necessary to consider for
a moment the nature of time itself, and the customary modes of measuring time.
You remember the old reply to the question,
What is time?  "If you do not ask me, I know."
The same might be said of many other things,
and for the same reason. It is because the common 8ccasions of life make us familiar with them
under some of their aspects, and we mistake this
familiarity for knowledge until called upon to
state what we know.  Thus everybody is familiar 
308 HOW TO MAKE THE SUN STAND STILL.
with time under some of its aspects, and this
familiarity with it is mistaken for a proper and
full understanding of it. We think we know it
already, and this conceit hinders us from even
so much as trying to obtain profounder views.
In saying this, I do not mean that men are
bound to trouble themselves with metaphysical
subtilties on this subject or on any other; but
it will not do, under color of the common prejudice against metaphysics, to reject and disown all
serious and profound thought. There is, I believe, a great deal of superficial living, which has
its origin in superficial thinking.   Thus much at
least is plain, that we should seek to extend our
knowledge of the nature of time if it can be
shown to be of importance in any way to faith or
morals, and especially if we find aid and encouragement in doing so, in the Word of God.
The first general remark which I have to make
respecting time is, that, according to Scripture as
well as reason, it is not the same to God as it is
to men: he is not subject to it, as we are.  "But,
beloved, be not ignorant of this one thing, that
one day is with the Lord as a thousand years,
and a thousand years as one day."  By reason
of the limitations of the human  mind we  are
unable to consider more than one thing at once;
so that, if many things are to be considered, they 
HOW TO MAKE THE SUN STAND STILL. 309
must be considered one after another; that is,
successively: and succession supposes what we
call time. Al] events exist therefore to the hliuman mind subject to the conditions and laws
of time; but we have no right to conclude that
this holds true of a being who has none of our
limitations, - of an absolute and infinite being
like God. What we apprehend successively, he
grasps at once, - the past, the present, and the
future; for it is no more certain that he exists at
once, in every point of space, than it is that he
exists at once in every instant of duration: and
therefore it is said of him that he inhabiteth
eternity.
Of course we cannot conceive how this can be,
because we, in our modes of immediate existence
and knowledge, are limited to the present, to the
here and the now; but we must not presume to
impose our limitations on God, or make our necessities the standard of his. The fact itself which
this doctrine teaches, we can understand, and this
is all we are called upon to believe; and so much
it is of great practical moment that we should
believe. For it shows the vanity of the sinner's
hope, who counts on the long delays of the divine
justice as a ground of immunity or escape.  "Because sentence against an evil work is not executed
speedily, therefore the heart of the sons of men is 
810 HOW TO MAKE THE SUN STAND STILL.
fully set in them to do evil." This could hardly
be if they remembered that what is a long time
to us is not so to God; or, in other words, that
his measures of time are not like ours. We measure one time by another; he measures all times by
eternity. With him therefore one day must be as
a thousand years, and a thousand years as one
day; so that what seems to us to be separated
by long intervals, by long delays, is to him but
the constant, eternal, ever-present unfolding of his
immutable purpose.
The second general remark which I have to
make in this connection is, that, even for us, there
are no absolute measures of time; that is to say,
no time which is absolutely short or absolutely
long. Here, again, it is the same with time as
it is with space; there being no absolutely great,
no absolutely small, space.  "If" -to borrow a
familiar illustration-" any one were to affirm that
the  universe was  continually growing less and
less, all the parts altering in the same proportion,
and the dimensions of the human race with the
rest, in such manner that the whole solar system
would now go into a nut-shell, such as nut-shells
were a thousand years ago, -it would be impossible either for him to prove it, if true, or for
any one else to prove the contradiction, if false.
In like manner, if any one were to say that the 
HOW TO MAKE THE SUN STAND STILL.  311
revolutions of all the heavenly bodies were continually accelerating, but that the properties of matter were also continually altering, and the speed
with which ideas are formed and communicated,
and muscular efforts made, continually increasing,
-it would be impossible to prove a contradiction."
It would seem, therefore, that there is no absolute standard to which we can appeal, in our
measurements of time.  We  sometimes say that
a day is a day, or that a year is a year, whether
much or little takes place in it, whether we can
give any account of it or not; but this does not
follow. After all, a day or a year is not a measure of time, properly so called, but of a series of
events, of a definite series of events, which might
be quickened or retarded to any extent without
our knowing or suspecting it, provided only that
all other events were quickened or retarded in
the same proportion. We sometimes pass whole
days and years in a dream, yet find on waking,
that we have been asleep but a few minutes, as
measured by the clock. This is commonly accounted for, I know, by saying that in the dream
we mistake thoughts for events; but who will
assure us that the events themselves might not
be crowded into the same space, supposing all
other things to be adjusted to this new ratio of
speed. 
312 HOW TO MAKE THE SUN STAND STILL.
But it is not necessary to dwell in these transcendental regions.  It is enough if we have seen
that the common divisions of time are "as nothing" in the sight of God, and that they have no
absolute value eveni with men.
My next general remark is, that in our practical estimates of time, and in common conversation,
we call the same period long or short according to
the subject with which it is connected or compared. Thus, to live fourscore years is a long
life now, but it would have been a short one,
mere childhood, among the antediluviatus.  Fifty
years make a large portion of the life of a man,
but would not be accounted much in the life of
a nation; so the history of a dynasty or an empire.
A thousand years are a long period even in the
history of nations and empires, but would be regarded as a short one, as a mere day, in the
history of the earth itself, or of the solar system,
or of the stellar universe.   Accordingly in the
Mosaic account of the creation, the "days" are
thought by some to stand for geological eras, each
one of which is supposed to have consisted of
countless myriads of centuries.
But I need not multiply arguments and illustrations to prove, that, whenever we speak of a long
time or a short time, it is comnparatively, and not
absolutely.  One thing, however, in this collnnec 
-HOW TO MAKE THE SUN STAND STILL.  313
tion, is particularly worthy of note. The period
of discipline and preparation is always short in
comparison with the period of maturity and enjoyment.   Speaking  generally and practically, our
whole success in this life depends on fidelity during the half-a-dozen years in which we are fitting
ourselves for it.  I do not mean that there are no
labors and trials afterwards, but fidelity during
these few  years will prepare us to meet such
labors and trials; for it is the business of education to determine, not only what a man will be,
but what he  will do.  Still more  obvious and
impressive is this difference, when we conisider
the present life as a preparation for the life to
come. Has it never crossed your mind, with
what unspeakable agony the lost soul will see at
last, that, by fidelity during a,few short years of
probation, it might have secured a whole eternity
of holiness and bliss?
Thus far I have spoken of time and its common
measurements in their relations to mankind. I
pass, in the next place, to speak of them in their
relations to the individual.
Whatever time may be in itself, or whatever it
may )e to others, it is nothing to me if unattended
by conscious thought. Of this, considered strictly
as a physiological fact, there is abundant evidence
in cases of sound sleep, of swoons, and of injuries,
14 
314 HOW TO MAKE THE SUN STAND STILL.
occasioning a long-continued suspension of consciousniess.  Accordingly it is no objection to the
doctrine of what is called " The Sleep of the Sou],"
whether  that doctrine be well or ill founded in
other respects, to say that it separates life by a
vast interval from its retributions; for if a person
were really to sleep, with a perfect suspension of
all mental operations, from this time until a general resurrection of the dead, the whole of that
period would appear to him, and would be to him,
but an instant.  Hence it would seem to follow, as
regards the individual at least, that time is not the
measure of life, but life is the measure of time;
so that, if we would know how long he has lived,
we must ascertain how much he has done.
To this it may be objected, that time never
seems so short as when we are most busily engaged, and the succession of our thoughts is the
quickest; as in exciting scenes, or in interesting
company and conversation. Here the fallacy consists in confounding a sense of the rapid passage
of time with a sense that not much is passing.  In
the circumstances just mentioned, the time seems
to be shorter in passing; but when it is passed, and
we are able to look back upon it, and see it altogether, and so can apply a measure to the whole,
it seems to be longer. Thus on a journey, the
mind being occupied by a constant succession of 
HOW TO MAKE THE SUN STAND STILL. 315
diverting objects, the time seems very short while
passing, very long in retrospect; and the same is
true of the whole of life when it resembles such a
journey.  A  day filled with twenty good deeds
does not drag like a day which has witnessed only
one; but the amount of satisfaction actually
enjoyed by us in the course of it, is twenty times
as great, and it is felt in the retrospect to be
twenty times as long. I repeat it, therefore; life,
true life, is not measured by the motion of the
heavenly bodies, nor by the motion of the index
on the dial-plate of the clock, but by the aggregate
of what we have thought and done. He who has
lived much, has lived lo?ng. In the calendar of
heaven, "honorable age is not that which staideth
in length of time, nor that is measured by number
of years; but wisdom is the gray hair unto men,
and an unspotted life is old age."
Who is there whose life does not bear testimony
to the truth of the doctrine here advanced? Who
is there, who, in great emergencies, has never had
a single day so crowded with useful and virtuous
activity, that, when night came on, he felt that he
had lived to some purpose, and looking back on it
afterwards has been more than once disposed to
exclaim, "Oh, that all my days were such "?  Do
you wish to know how this prayer may be fulfilled?
Simply by doing for yourselves what, in the cases 
316  HOW TO MIAKE THE SU,V STAND STILL.
referred to, the emergency  did for you.   The
emergency has revealed us to ourselves. It has
awakened in us powers and capacities which we
dlid not know before that we possessed; but we
now know that we possess them, and that we can
put them forth at will. What therefore a pressure
from without has made us do once or twice, we
should make ourselves do continually by pressure
firom within, - the untiring urgency of a quickened
conscience, a lofty purpose, and an immortal hope.
In this respect the children of light would do well
to take a lesson from the children of this world.
When ambition or avarice takes entire possession
of the soul, it does not act like an occasional emer gency; neither is the influence which it exerts
of the nature of a pressure from without: it is a
perpetual pressure from within, stimulating those
who feel it to incessant effort. They rest not day
and  night, crowding  the work  of  years  into
months, and so turning months into years.  "Now
they do it to obtain a corruptible crown;" might
not, ought not we to do as much "to obtain an in corruptible "?
All the preceding observations tend therefore
to this; that thle common  distinctions, and  the
common notation of time are of comparative unimportance to an earnest and determined mind.
Holy thoughts and good deeds, and not the 
,HOW TO MAKE THE SUN STAND STILL. 317
pendulum of the clock, determine the measure of
a life approved and accepted of God.
"He most lives,
Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best."
Tried by this standard, how is it with you and
me? When the year which has just closed, began,
we had so much to do, and but so much time in
which to do it. The year has gone; has a year's
work been done? or have we suffered the work to
accumulate on our hands? Have we done as much
as we thought we should do, or as we meant to do?
I am afraid there is not one among us all who can
answer this question to his own entire satisfaction;
or, if he can, I am afraid that the satisfaction itself
is evidence that he has made no progress. Have
you entirely mastered and corrected a single bad
habit, a single bad propensity, a single infirmity
of temper? Can you remember many instances in
which you have borne provocation without malice,
generously forgiven the wrong-doer, and overcome
evil with good? Have you been ready to assist
the needy, not only when it was easy to do so, but
also when it called for self-denial and sacrifice?
Can you remember a single friend or associate,
who,oas you have reason to believe, owes a single
virtue to your example or your counsels? Let an
awakened and an enlightened conscience pursue
these inquiries, and the best of us would soon be 
318 HOW TO MAKE TIIE SUN STAND STILL.
convinced-perhaps the best of uswould soonest
be convinced -of how small a portion of the past
year we can give a good and perfectly satisfactory
account.  Are you sure that all the good you have
done in the twelve months might not have been
crowded into a single week, or a single day?  If it
might have been, then remember that, according
to the only measure of time which we know in
heaven, the twelve months shrivel up into that
brief space. You have not lived a year; you have
only lived a week, or, it may be, a day.
From the past let us now turn to the future, from the year that has just closed to that which
has just begun. If a large proportion of the great
and solemn work of life still remains to be accomplished in the ever narrowing term allotted us on
earth, we may be tempted to cry out with the
Hebrew chieftain in the hot pursuit of a halfvanquished foe, "Sun! stand thou still!" Vain
and presumptuous expectation, if we look for its
literal fulfilment! The lights which God has set
in the firmament of heaven, to "be for signs, and
for seasons, and for days and years," will hold on
their course. What then can we do? It is often
said that the formation of character is a slow work.
If so, this is not a reason for being slow to begin;
it is a motive for despatch. It used to be a common
supposition that, where thirteen persons met at a 
HOW TO MAKE THE SUN STAND STILL. 319
feast, one of the number might be expected to die
within the year. How much more certain that,
before another annual revolution is completed, more
than one of the number here present, and those
perhaps who least expect it, will be  summoned
to give account of themselves to God.  On  the
great and awful themes here involved, - God,
Christ, the soul, retribution, eternity, - I do not
think that the speculations of the wisest uninspired
man are worth much. I turn to the Scriptures;
and here I think I find that the only probation
expressly allotted to man is the probation of this
life. Without necessarily implying that the future
state is a fixed state either to the good or the bad,
it seems to me that the doctrine nevertheless is,
that we choose sides here, with no reason to expect
that we shall have either the disposition or the
opportunity to change sides hereafter. Under the
pressure of this infinitely momentous alternative, I
ask again, What shall we do?
Though we cannot make the sun stand still in
the midst of heaven, we can do what, as we have
seen, will be the same in effect. By putting the
work of two days into one, we can make one day
equal'to two. By crowding the year that is before
us with generous purposes, and virtuous efforts,
and noble sacrifices, we call make it equal to twenty
years of ordinary life. It is sometimes said that 
320 HOW TO MAKE THE SUN STAND STILL.
the repentance which is to save us, is not the repentance of a day; and this is true, if all the
fruits of repentance are meant to be included.
But the repentance which consists in a solemn and
religious change of intention and of heart, which
supposes an inward and radical change of one's
whole plan of life, so as to take him out of the
class of the bad, and put him into the class of the
good, - this is, or at least may be, not only the
repentance of a day, but of an hour: I had almost
said of a moment, of any moment, - of this
moment. Afterwards we have nothing to do but
to go on. If wve are living when this year expires,
consider, I beseech you, what unspeakable satisfaction it will give us to be assured that we are in the
right and only safe path; that the interval has
been lengthened out to twice, to quadruple, to tenfold its usual dimensions, considered as a measure of real life, by the number and excellence of
the deeds with which it has been filled; that
every day has been a step towards heaven. Remember, also, that our enjoyment of this satisfaction at that time will depend, not on what we
wish then, but on what we determine, and on what
we do, now.
1848-1857. 
ON THE SIN OF BEING LED ASTRAY. 321
XIX.
ON THE SIN OF BEING LED ASTRAY.
" My son, 2f sinners entice thee, consent thou not." - PROVERBS i. 10.
HEN  a young man falls into evil courses, it
is common for his fi'iends to find such consolation as they can in the thought that he was led
astray. His original purposes and dispositions were
good; he would have done well enough if left to
himself; but he fell into vicious companionships,
and was led astray. And this is often said in a tone
which would seem to imply that the victims, in such
cases, are objects of pity, rather than of blame.
But is it so? I do not forget that there are, as
there always have been, "corrupters of youth,"
men who lie in wait for the innocent and inexperienced in order to entice them into sin. Neither
do I forget that the strongest language of reprobation fals adequately to express the guilt of such
persons.  But, if there is sin in enticing, there is
also sin in yielding to the enticement; nay, my
object in this discourse will be to show, that the
14*                 u 
322 ON THE SIN OF BEING LED ASTRAY.
difference is by no means so great as is commonly
supposed.
Those who think to excuse men's delinquencies,
on the ground that they did not commit them of
their own accord, but were led into them by others,
should consider that on this ground all delinqueincies might be excused, -even those of our first
parents. Adam complained that hlie was led astray
by Eve, and Eve, that she was led astray by the
serpent; but we do not find that the plea was accepted, or listened to, in either case.  And so it
has been ever since. Men do not become sinners
of their own accord, of their own motion, that is
to say, without being tempted to become so; and
in almost every instance, the temptation comes,
directly or indirectly, through other men. We are
led astray. Nevertheless, our sins are sins. Even
those who now lead others astray, began by being
led astray themselves; so that if this is an excuse
for either, it is an excuse for both -for all. And
besides, virtue does not grow up in the absence of
all enticement to sin, but in the presence and in
the resistance of such enticement; and it is this
resistance which makes it to be virtue.
Look again at the nature of this excuse.  "They
would have done well enough if left to themselves, because they started in life with good purposes and dispositions." But when this is urged, 
ON THE SIN OF BEING LED ASTRAY. 323
I am afraid that, in a vast majority of cases, their
purposes and dispositions are called good merely
because they are not bad; or rather, perhaps, because they have no fixed purposes and dispositions
of any kind.   And here there is no occasion to
take the ground of high and unreasonable expectations. We do not expect men to start in life
with a fixed character; for character is made up of
habits, and the formation of habits is the work of
time. All that we expect or have a right to insist
upon is, that every one should start in life with
fixed purposes and dispositions; that is to'say, not
merely with a willingness, but with a strong determination, to do well. But if a man is led astray
by the common enticements incident to human
trial, it proves that he was without this strong
determination; so that the excuse fails. Goodnatured, he may have been; but good nature, as
that term is commonly understood, is much more
frequently the sign of an easy than of a determined
mind: and where this is the case, where good nature stands for nothing better than ease and pliancy
of temper, instead of being an excuse for any thing
else, it needs itself to be excused; at any rate,
it is evidence of moral infirmity and danger.
Again; those who try to find an excuse for their
delinquencies ill the fact that they were led astray
by others, are apt to exaggerate these enticements, 
324 ON THE SIN OF BEING LED ASTRAY.
as if to intimate that resistance under such circumstances was out of the question. In short, throughout the whole of the affair, they take a course perversely opposite to that which prudence and duty
dictate. While the danger is in prospect, and they
should be put on their guard against it, they make
light of it; but after it has come, and done its
work, they can then see it in all and more than
all its magnitude, and find there a reason and an
excuse for their fall.
In point of fact the danger, except to a comparatively small number, is neither so great, nor so
imminent, as is genierally thought. Let me not be
misunderstood. We must make distinctions here.
I do not forget that one of the greatest difficulties
in Providence is found in the degree to which our
conduct and characters are left to depend on
others, while we ourselves are made to suffer the
consequences in this world and the next. But the
influence, and often the controlling influence, which
other men have over our conduct and characters,
is, for the most part, general and indirect. That is
to say, it comes for the most part through a bad or
neglected education, through a perverted or low
state of public opinion, through the prevalence
and perhaps the popularity of corrupting customs
and institutions, and the like; and not through a
direct instigation to particular sins. 
ON THE SIN OF BEING LED ASTRAY. 325
When any one yields to such direct instigation,
it proves, as it seems to me, one of two things;
either that he is more than usually weak-minded,
or that he has a strong natural proclivity in the
same direction. Consider how it is where large
numbers are thrown together, and are under the
necessity of living, together for a considerable time.
They immediately fall into distinct associations
and companioniships, according to their several
tastes and habits; the great majority, as we are
willing to believe, to follow out plans of usefulness
or pleasure which they have chosen for themselves;
a few to be led about, and made fools of, by any
one who will take the trouble to do it; and who
these few are, can generally be deternmined before
they have been together six weeks.
I might go farther, and say that bad men seldom
try to lead astray any except those who show beforehand a willingness to be thus led.   We  are
apt to make men of loose principles and dissipated
habits worse than they really are.   They are not
monsters; they are still men, and have many, at
least, of the feelings and sentiments natural to
men. They may be, and probably are, unduly disposej to suspect appearances; they have no respect
for hypocrisy, and exult in its exposure: but whenever they meet with an example of modest and
consistent virtue, they do not, and they cannot, 
326 ON THE SIN OF BEING LED ASTRAY.
resist the instinctive tendency of their nature to
admire it.   When these men read history, the
characters whom  they most admire are the same
whom good men most admire; -not the triflers
and profligates of the day, that is, the men who
most resemble themselves, but the heroes, and, high
above all, the moral heroes. With such feelings it
is hardly to be supposed that they would deliber ately plot the ruin of the very persons, whom in
common with the rest of the community, they sin cerely respect and revere.
But, it may be said, there are worse men than
these; and so there are, - fiends in human shape,
who would take perhaps a satanic delight in the
fall, if it were possible, "of the very elect."  Few
however, as I suppose all will agree, attain to this
pitch of wickedness. They are monsters; and what
have the well disposed to do with monsters, known
as such, except to avoid them?  "Surely ill vain the
net is spread in the sight of anly bird." It is not by
monsters in crime that the innocent and inexperi enced are most in danger of being led astray, at
least in the first instance, but by those who have
as yet proceeded only a little way in crime; whose
crime consists, for the most part, in an uncontrolled
love of ease and pleasure, gilded over with comnpan ionable qualities, and sometimes by real kindness of
heart. These are the dangerous men; but danger 
ON THE SIN OF BEING LED ASTRAY. 327
ous to whom? In the case of such temlpters it is
idle, as I have said, to talk about a satanic purpose
to corrupt virtue, as virtue.  What motive is therefore left to induce them to take the trouble to lead
another astray, but this; that they see in him congenial propensities, - a strong natural tendency
to the same pleasures and unlawful gratifications;
and this tendency they may help to develop a little sooner, though it probably would have been
developed sooner or later without their aid.
I come therefore to these three conclusions. In
the first place, a large proportion of those who are
led astray are led astray by themselves, by their own
evil thoughts; in the language of Scripture, "they
are drawn away of their own lust, and enticed."
Sometimes the temptation does not take the form
of a natural taste or inclination for the vice itself,
but that of a morbid curiosity to know what the vice
is; yet in the latter case, as well as in the former,
they are led astray by themselves, by their own evil
thoughts. In the second place, a large proportion
of those who are led away by others, purposely put
themselves in the way of it; the bad company do
not seek them out, but they seek out the bad
company. They know, as well as others, that
the community consists of two sorts of persons,
the safe and the dangerous, the industrious and the
idle, the virtuous and the vicious; and, knowing 
328 ON THE SIN OF BEING LED ASTRAY.
this, they nevertheless voluntarily connect them  selves with the obnoxious class. As a general rule,
therefore, they can hardly be said to be led away
by the wicked; they join the wicked, differing from
older transgressors in this only, that they were the
last to join,- not veterans, but recruits.  And,
in the third and last place, the very fact that an
attempt is made to lead a man astray is strong
evidence against  him.   Men  of unquestionable
probity and moral inflexibleness are never spoken
to, are never thought of, in this connection. The
emissaries of evil know what they are about: they
seldom approach any but such as they are con vinced, by almost infallible signs, will turn out easy
and willing victims. Hence it is a bad sign, I do
not say merely that a man should be led astray,
but that he should be singled out for this pur pose; that his virtue should be even so much as
attempted, is proof that all is not right.
Still it cannot be denied that melancholy cases
do occur from time to time, in which persons,
merely through ignorance and inexperience, are
led astray by artful and designing men,-persons,
too, who, under other influences and in other com3 panionships, might have succeeded in life, and be come useful and perhaps distinguished members
of society. Nothing should be left undone which
will help to save such persons; above all, they 
ON THE SIN OF BEING LED ASTRAY. 329
should be conjured to consider, before it is too
late, the weakness, the guilt, and the ruin which
consenting to be led astray involves.
Consider, in the first place, the weakness which
such  conduct  supposes  and  involves.   Moral
strength, that is, the strength which is the
opposite to the weakness here intended, constitutes what is called personality; it makes the
distinction between a person and a thing, between
a self-active, self-determiining being, and one who
moves only as he is moved.  Some there are who
manifest so little of this strength, as almost to
leave us in doubt under which head they ought
to be classed; they are never among the leaders,
but always among the led; they are not so much
persons as things, that is, appendages to persons. And here it is to no purpose to object that
only a few can lead; the rest must follow: that
the great majority in every community, from the
necessities of their condition, or friom want of
information or natural ability, must follow. Certainly they must; but what has that to do with
the subject in hand? There is a world of difference between following a man because we choose
to follow him, and being led by him because he
chooses to lead us. There is also a world of difference between following others because we think
they will lead us aright, our own judgment ap 
330  ON THE SIN OF BEING LED ASTRAY.
proving the course, and following others when we
know or suspect they will lead us astray, our own
judclgmenit disapproving the course.  The only independence I am contending for here, is moral independence; an independence which refuses to follow
when reason and prudence and conscience say, No!
And this independence may exist, and does exist, in
all classes; nay, is quite as often found in the humblest classes as the highest, among the uneducated
as aniongi, the educated.
What I insist upon is, that a want of this independence, wherever met with, betrays the worst
form of weakness.  We  call a man morally weak,
who is led astray by his own passions; and so he
is, for it shows that, however strong he is in himself, his passions are stronger still: he is weak
relatively to his own passions. But a man who
is led astray by other men shows that he is weak
in himself, absolutely weak. This distinction must
be taken into account in making up our judgment
respecting many of the leading characters in history. Such men as Cesar and Cromwell and Napoleon were not strong in the sense of having the
mastery over their own passions, but in that of
having the mastery of every thing else. They
owed their ascendancy, not more to the power
they had over others, than to the fact that others
had no power over them in return; this circum 
ON THE SIN OF BEING LED ASTRAY. 331
stance giving a unity and persistence to their purpose, which made success almost certain.  And so
in business, so in scholarship, so in every walk and
pursuit of life; one of the great secrets of personal
and successful efficiency is found in making ourselves illaccessible to the influence of others any
farthier than we choose.  It is only in this condition that we are safe against being turned aside
fiom our own plans, against being laughed out of
our own seriousness, against losing our own courage in the general distrust or timidity. We must
be true to ourselves, whatever others may do or
say. Just so far as we fall from this moral independence, we fall into pitiable weakness, -a weakness which not only. supposes frailty, the frailty
common to all, but a loss of proper personality,
the loss of proper manhood.   We  become  the
shadows, the echoes, the tools of other men, and
so are liable at any moment to become their dupes
and victims.
Consider, in the next place, the g?ilt which is
involved in being led astray.   Guilt, as I have
intimated before, does not consist in sinning in
the absence of all temptation. Probably no such
siln was ever yet committed by man or fiend; it
would be to act without a motive.  Sinl and guilt
consist in yielding  to temptation.  " If  sinners
entice you," it will doubtless add to the tempta 
332 ON TIE SIN OF BEING LED ASTRAY.
tion, and so make it more likely that you will
commit the sin; but it does not make the sin any
the less a sin, either in its nature or consequences.
But some will ask, If another man inveigles me
into crime, is not he in some sense responsible for
the crime? Certainly he is. It is remarkable of
a crime committed by one person at the instigation of another, that two persons are guilty of it,
and two persons will have to answer for it. But
the question will still be pressed, Is not the instigator in this case unspeakably the more guilty
of the two?  And here, too, I answer as before,
Certainly he is, if guilt is to be measured by wickedness of purpose in the outset. But this is not the
only or the best way of estimating the moral harm
incurred by wrong-doing. The best and only legitimate gauge of the gravity of a transgression is found,
not in the state of mind in which it is committed,
but in the state of mind which it produces in those
who commit it. What and how much effect does
it have ill retarding, arresting, or reversing our
moral progress? Tried by this test, I suspect it
will often appear that the led are more thoroughly
demoralized than the leaders.  The reason is that
the leaders are generally men of some strength of
mind, and can stop when they please in a course
of self-indulgence; often also their ambition and
better instincts help to hold their love of pleasure 
ON THE SIN OF BEING LED ASTRAY. 333
in check. But not so with their imbecile dupes
and victims.  Hence it not infrequently happens
that the very person who was the first to lead
another astray, who taught him his first lessons in
crime, soon becomes ashamed of his follower, and
disgusted with his excesses, and casts him off.
It only remains for me  to speak of the ruin
which men bring on themselves by yielding to
the enticement of sinners. Here, unhappily, there
can be but one opinion. We may differ as to the
share of guilt incurred by those who are not the
originators, but merely the instruments and tools,
in the mischief; our pity for their weakness may
also do much to blind us to their criminality; but
we cannot shut our eyes on the reality of the distress they bring on their friends, or the final and
utter ruin they bring on themselves. How often
have we been told that our prisons are filled, not
only by those who contrived the wrong and perhaps profited by it, but by those whom they used
as instruments and tools to carry their purposes
into effect! The  leaders escape; the followers
are disgraced and punished. And so in respect to
the fashionable views of society. Who are they
who'suffer most from these in the loss of property,
reputation, and health?   Not the leaders, who
commonly know how to keep themselves out of
the worst dangers and the worst excesses, but 
334 ON THE SIN OF BEING LED ASTRAY.
their unwary  and facile followers; - followers,
too, who sometimes have no taste for a dissipated
life and find no real pleasure in it, but yet are
willing to plant unspeakable anguish in the hearts
of all who love them, and bring a fatal blight on
their own prospects, merely for the honor of being
noticed and flattered'by dangerous and profligate
mIen.
Would to God that what I have said might have
the effect to put a single unwary soul on its guard
against this peril! As has been intimated before,
in every place, in every community, the associations
and companionships are of two kinds, - the safe
and the dangerous. There are men whose presenice is a blessing and a benediction; whose companry and conversation have the effect to confirm
our faith, to strengthen all our good purposes,
and fill the future with bright visions of honor,
success, and usefulness. Again, there are those in
whose company you cannot be for half an hour
without feeling that virtue has gone out of you
their feet go down to death, their steps take
hold on hell." You are to make your choice between them; and remember, it is for your life 
1855.
v 
THE YOUNG MAN'S DREAM OF LIFE. 335
XX.
THE YOUNG MAN'S DREAM OF LIFE.
A BACCALAUREATE SERMON.
"And he dreamed yet another dream, and told it his brethren, and said,
Behold, I have dreamed a dream more; and, behold, the sun and the
moon and the eleven stars made obeisance to me.  And he told it to
his father, and to his brethren: and his father rebuked him, and said
unto him, WVlhat is this dream that thou hast dreamed? Shall I and
thy mother and thy brethren indeed come to bow down ourselves to thee
to the earth? And his brethren envied him; but his father observed
the saying." - GENESIS Xxxvii. 9, 10, 11.
UMAN  nature is substantially the same now
as in the days of the Hebrew patriarch.
What is related of Joseph, - his father's manifest
partiality, the fine clothes, and, above all, the two
vain-glorious dreams, as they must have seemed at
the time, - would be too much for the patience of
most elder brethren.  The bowing of the sheaves
was bad enough; but when he dreamed again, and
made not only "the eleven stars," that is, all his
brethren, who, with one exception, were considerably older than he, but also "the sun and moon," 
336 THE YOUNG MAN'S DREAM OF LIFE.
that is, his father and mother, do him obeisance, it
was too much even for the doting fondness of
Jacob himself.  Accordingly we are told that "his
father rebuked him, and said unto him, What is
this dream that thou hast dreamed? Shall I and
thy mother, and thy brethren, indeed come to bow
down ourselves to thee to the earth?"
The bold and confident aspirations of the strip liug, as he stood in the family group, and told his
dreams with so much simplicity, and we are tempted
to add with so much imprudence, must have of fended against Oriental notions of propriety even
more than they would against ours.  In the East,
to the present day, immobility reigns; the future
is expected to be merely a repetition of the past:
experience, therefore, is wisdom, is every thing;
age is looked up to with reverence; elders is
another name for rulers. But with us it is not
so. Among the Western nations, and especially
among those of the race to which we belong, there
has grown up from small beginnings a spirit of progress. Truth and right are looked for, not in the
past, but il the future; and under the influence of
this habit of thought, popularized and made univer sal, we cannot wonder that what is called the spirit
of progress should often degenerate into a passion
for change and reform. Some writers are fond of
charging the whole movement, with all its good 
THE YOUNG MAN'S DREAM OF LIFE.  337
and all its evil issues, on the Protestant Reformation; but they mistake one of the effects of the
cause for the cause itself. The movement began
long before, and the Protestant Reformation was
neither more nor less than one of its important
results. And it is still going on. Reactions there
have been, and will be, on the surface; but the
deep under-currents are the same as heretofore,
betraying themselves, when excessive, in contempt
for every thing that is old, in disdain for experience and for the wisdom derived from experience.
Hence, there is but too mtch ground for the complaint of one of the most liberal and just thinkers
of the present century, that "the young man of
to-day measures himself with the man of many
years; before his school-days are over, the boy
thinks and declares himself equal to his sire. This
notion of equality of minds is carried so far that
the judgment of eighteen has as much authority as
that of fifty; and the reasoning of a day-laborer,
on a question of policy, is considered as decisive
as that of a statesman whose whole life has been
passed in the midst of public affairs, or of a student
grown gray in thought."
But there are two important considerations which
the persons who are fond of dwelling on this topic
are apt to overlook. In the first place, they forget
how differently young men are educated now than
15                  v 
338 THE YOUNG MAN S DREAM OF LIFE.
formerly.  Education, meaning  thereby artificial
and systematic education, is not intended to supply
the place of natural ability, or to train minds which
otherwise would not be trained at all; but sin)ply
to facilitate and expedite this training, and make it
more thorough and comprehensive. Thus understood, it may be said in a certain sense, and to a
certain extent, to be a substitute for experience:
the thoroughly educated man is, in some respects,
as old at twenty-one, as the uneducated at thirty
or thirty-five. Why wonder, then, that he should
speak and act, as if he were as old?  Why deliberately apply these forcing processes, and afterwards
affect to wonder and complain at the obvious
and necessary result? Why multiply the arts of
bringing forward and pushing forward young men
into society, and afterwards affect to wonder and
complain at finding them where you have chosen
to put them? Again, it is to be considered that,
in this country at least, many of the objects and
pursuits, which once took up and occupied the
exuberant ambition and activity of young men,
have failed almost entirely. Only a very few can
go into the army: the well educated are not busily
engaged here, as in some other countries, in making their way at court; neither is there demand
here for that high refinement, for that elaborate
though superficial culture, which is expected in an 
THE YOUNG MAN'S DREAM OF LIFE. 339
aristocratical constitution of society. What, then,
are our young men to do? Failing other objects
of interest, is it at all wonderful that they should
turn to politics or reform? that they should mix
with their elders in important social action, or undertake to act by themselves, though at the risk of
sometimes intermeddling with matters beyond their
years?
However this may be, it is certainly natural that
those who are just entering on life, and those who
are soon to quit it, should differ in their views of
life itself. The reason is, that the latter know
what life is; they know it through and through,
from actual experience; they know its early promises, and how far these promises are likely to be
fulfilled, and how far unfulfilled. On the contrary,
those who are just entering on life see but a single phase of it; the rest is hearsay, theory, conjecture, imagination. Like Joseph, they dream what
will happen to them: awake or asleep, it matters
not, still it is a dream,- the young man's dream of
life. And this is my subject; not inappropriate,
as it seems to me, either to the occasion or the
place. Be assured, however, in the outset, that I
have hot selected this subject with a view to treat
it lightly, or satirically, or irreverently.  I believe
that the young man's dream of life may come to
pass, as in the case of Joseph; nay, more, that the 
340 THE YOUNG MAN'S DREAM OF LIFE.
dream itself often works its own accomplishment.
Neither is this all: I believe there is often more
wisdom, and more dignity, and more humble trust,
in the young man's dream of life, than in the old
man's philosophy of life. What I am anxious to
do is simply this: - to call your attention to a remarkable discrepancy in these dreams; to impress
you with the fact, that, while some of these dreams
are true to our nature and our destiny, and lead to
nothing but good, there are others which are false
to our nature and our destiny, and lead to nothing
but evil.
To the last-mentioned class belongs the dream of
a life of ease and pleasure and self-indulgence.
The great law which applies to other dreams
holds good also here: every man's dream of life
is shaped and determined, for the most part, by
his constitutional tendencies, and his antecedent
habits of thought and experience. For this reason,
it is chiefly among such as are born to wealth, and
brought up amidst luxury and abundance, that we
look for the mistaken anticipations of life of which
I now speak. Up to the present time, theirs has
been a life of ease and pleasure and self-indulgence,
and they are fain to believe that it will be so to the
end. But they forget, in the first place, the rotatory nature of family fortunes, at least in this
country.  With us, the law of inheritance and the 
THE YOUNG MAN'S DREAM OF LIFE. 341
distribution of property are such, that a rich man's
son can hardly expect ally thing more than to
have his way made easy in the beginning, and to
be helped a little afterwards; with the danger, too,
that this expectation will take just so much from
his self-reliance, and from his earnest and deternlined preparation to help himself. Even here it
is not impossible, I know, that a family should con.
tinue rich through several generations; but it is
only on condition that they continue distinguished
for habits of thrift and frugality, thus excluding
the thought of a life of ease, pleasure, and selfindulgence. Moreover, this is not the rule, but
the exception to the rule; the rule is vicissitude;
while one goes up, another comes down, not requiring, as it has been found by experience, more
than three, or at most four, generations for the
wheel to effect an entire revolution. If a class of
young men, anywhere collected together in this
country, could look forward t6 what will be their
relative social position thirty years from this time,
it would lead them to attach much less importance
to what their relative social position is now.
Assuming, however, that a young man were sure
to retain the means of a life of ease, pleasure, and
self-indulgence, he cannot learn too soon that this
is not the way to happiness, - to true and lasting
content.   SelJ-indulgence is not  self-satisfaction. 
342 THE YOUNG MAN'S DREAM OF LIFE.
The unwary are misled by a term which does not
mean what it purports to mean. In point of fact,
self-indulgence is not the indulgence of self, understanding thereby a man's whole self, but only of a
part of self: it is not the indulgence of his whole
nature, but only of part of his nature, and that the
lowest; often, also, to the damage, and sometimes
to the ruin, of his higher nature. What we call
self-indulyence is not indulgence of self, in any
proper sense of that word, but rather of this or
that low or sordid passion which threatens the
degradation and perhaps the ruin of self; and it
is probably the secret consciousness of this fact
which constitutes that drop of bitterness and selfreproach which is always found at the bottom of
the cup of pleasure.
Still, the best antidote to dreaming of a life of
ease, pleasure, and self-indulgence is found in a
serious and thoughtful glance at its actual results
in other men. It is not merely that they wake up
at length, and know it to be a dream; for this is
no more than what sometimes happens in respect
to worthy and generous aspirations; but with a
most important difference: in the latter case we
do not regret the dream; we feel we are the better
for it. On the other hand, there is no weariness
and disgust of life like that which gathers over
the spirits of a broklen-downl man of pleasure, who 
TIHE YlOUNG MAN'S DREAM OF LIFE. 343
has found out, when too late, that his is that lautghter in which the heart is sorrowful, and his that
mirth the end of whichl is heaviness.  With  no
relish for vice, and no confidence in virtue, the
best that can be expected from the old age of
such a man is a decorous conformity to conventionalities, for which there is left to him neither
faith nor heart.   One  thing, however,  he will
never do,-  and what could better illustrate and
enforce my  present argument? -under no circumstances whatever will he recommend it to his
children to follow in his steps.
I am not inculcating a new doctrine. You are
familiar with it as set forth in one of the most impressive apologues for which we are indebted to
pagan wisdom: I mean, the Choice of Hercules.
It has also been confirmed and consecrated, and
adopted into the higher relations of the Christian
life, in the account which the gospel gives us of
our Lord's Temptation in the Wilderness. Both
belong to a large class of exhortations and examples, intended to kindle the imaginations of youth
in favor of a life of labor for noble objects, and
against a life of indulgence. But if this is right
and rise for men in general, it is doubly so for us,
-for you.  In the old world, and under a widely
different political and social constitution, an order
of men is found, who are not only raised by birth 
844 THE YOUNG MAN'S DREAM OF LIFE.
and position above the necessities of labor, but
surrounded by elegant and refined amusements
and society, and other objects of interest, to fill
up their time and supply the place of regular and
serious occupation.   By their numbers, and the
prestige of lrank, they are also able to give a sort
of dignity to the life they lead, to make it an ob ject of respect, or, at least, of desire or envy. But
here another state of things prevails. It is doubt less premature to speak of what will be in a remote
future, but this much is certain: neither our institu tions, nor the general condition of the people, have
provided as yet for such a class of men. Here,
therefore, whoever dreams about a life of elegant
leisure will soon find himself to be out of place
with but little to occupy or interest or grace his
leisure; with no privileged order to keep him in
countenance, indeed almost alone, for if he turns for
companionship to others as idle as himself, he will
often have to put up with very poor companion ship. In short, who does not know that ill this
country it is hardly considered respectable to be
a gentleman, and nothing else?
Not much better is the young man's dream of a
life of selfish ambition and worldly success.
The error before described pertains for the most
part, as I have intimated, to minds naturally iriesolute, and enervated still more by easy and prosper 
THE YOUNG MAN'S DREAM OF LIFE. 345
ous circumstances; that of which I am now to
speak belongs to persons the very opposite in both
character and condition. It belongs to men who
are conscious of their strength; who chafe under
the restraints and limitations imposed upon them
by what they regard as their hard lot; who cannot
bear to see others, every way their iniferiors except
in the gifts of fortune, stand higher than they do;
who start, therefore, with a determination to reverse this state of things, come what may. And
this tendency is not necessarily lessened -in some
respects, indeed, it is stimulated and quickenedin an educated young man. The energies which
before were latent have become apparent; experience and reflection have had the effect to make
him more keenly alive to the unequal distribution
of external facilities and advantages, and he is apt
to say to himself, "I have not only the abilities,
but also the education, necessary to the struggle.
I am at the bottom of the ladder now; but I will
be at the top before I die, or die in the attempt."
Now this is a dream; here as well as elsewhere.
Nothing is more common than to exaggerate, if not
entirely to misconceive, the advantages resulting in
this respect from our free institutions. Liberty, in
the largest and best sense of that word, is, at least
in its essential nature, merely a negative, and not a
positive, good.  It takes off restraints; it removes
15* 
346 THE YOUNG MAN'S DREAM OF LIFE.
obstacles; it makes it impossible for a single man,
or a privileged order of nien, to hinder the prog ress of society or of individuals, against their will.
Still it must not be counted on as supplying the
place of this progress, or of the knowledge, ability,
and effort necessary thereto.  Our free institutions
do not and cannot work the miracle, or rather the
contradiction, of making everybody to be first:
there must still be gradations in society; so that
when  the boys in a common school are told, as
they often are, that any one of them may become
President of the United States, the appeal is not
only made to a vulgar motive, but the whole is
founded on a palpable fallacy.  Because the way
to the highest distinctions is open to all, it does
not follow that the highest distinctions are within
the reach of all. In the practical working of the
freest institutions of government and society, the
great popular advantage is not that the highest dis tinctions are within the reach of all, but that com petency and respectability are within the reach of
all. And this should satisfy all. To expect more
is to dream.
Nevertheless, I do not condemn it merely because
* it is a dream; nor yet, because it is a dream of
ambition.   Ethical writers have raised the ques tion whether ambition is a virtue or a vice; but
simply considered, and strictly speaking, it is nei 
THE YOUNG MAN'S DREAM OF LIFE. 347
ther one nor the other; not even self-love. Simply
considered, it is the desire of power, of the power
which mind has over matter, and over other miinds,
and takes its character of virtue or vice, of selfishness or philanthropy, according to the purpose and
spirit by which it is animated. Thus a lawyer, or
physician, or clergyman  may be ambitious of excellence ill his profession, merely with a view to
greater usefulness ill his profession; ill which case
his ambition does but measure the intensity of his
desire to do good. Indeed, I cannot see the colnsistency, and I am slow to believe in the entire sincerity, of those who talk about wishing to do good,
and yet fail to manifest, and perhaps affect to disclaim, all wish to enlarge their means of doing
good. Look at these men, and then deny, if youi
can, that much of what passes for aversion to
ambition on moral grounds, is but an after-thought
to excuse a real and culpable indifference or indolence. Neither the spirit of Christianity, nor the
letter of Scripture, forbid ambition, considered
merely as a desire to extend the means, and the
sphere, of one's influence. We are told, it is true,
that' whosoever exalteth himself shall be abased
and ie that humbleth himself shall be exalted."
This ltanguage, however, as the connection shows,
is not intended to rebuke ambition simply considered, but selfish ambition, - anxiety for out 
348 THE YOUNG MAN'S DREAM OF LIFE.
ward  and  worldly  distinction  and  success;
precisely the position I have taken above.   To
dream of a life of selfish ambition, of outward
and worldly distinction and success, is as unwise
as it is unchristian; not, however, as I have said,
because it is a dream, for every anticipation of conm ing life is of the nature of a dream, but because it
is a noxious dream.
It is so, in the first place, because a young mnan,
starting under this illusion, is alnmlost sure to forget
what constitutes true worth; which consists in
deserving, and not ill obtaining, success.  Again,
it makes success to depend, not upon what he
does or can do himself, but upon what others think
of what he does; thus putting it out of his own
power, in any proper sense of that word, and look ing for it to the uncertain and ever-shifting caprices
of the multitude. I am not calling your attention
to imaginary evils. Travellers assure us that the
faults or defects in the people of this country, by
which a foreignuier is most struck, are these three:
- an unmanly solicitude about what their neighbors
will say; a spirit of unrest, tending to fill the best
life with petty annoyances, and taking from the
best character the grace of repose; and, above all,
a disposition to estimate every thing, even their
abilities and virtues, not according to their real,
but according to their marketable, value. And it 
THE Yl'OUNG MAN'S DREAM OF LIFE. 349
is in this community, and amidst these tendencies,
that your lot is cast, that you are to live and act,
with a moral certainty of falling into the national
fault, if you begin by committing the national
error; if you begin by looking forward to wealth
and office, or to leadership in some clique, or in
some new movement, as if life had nothing better
or safer to promise. Notwithstanding the general,
the almost universal, diffusion of the means of
material comfort, notwithstanding the boasted and
real benefits of popular education, and the actual
prevalence of a higher standard of thought and
character, it is alleged, and I am afraid with but
too much reason, that there is less contentment,
less real happiness here, than in most other countries.  This does not happen, as some have supposed, because we aim too high, but because we do
not aim aright.  In laying down our plans of life
we dream of incongruous things, of things which
are as uncertain and inconstant as the winds, or
can only be obtained by means which are destructive of peace and self-respect. Leave these things
to others, who are willing to pay the price for
them; who are willing to cringe and fawn and
crawl.  It is enough if you are able to say, and say
with truth, "I have not these things because I
sought them not, because I desire them not, because
I have what is better." 
350 THE YOUNG MAN'S DREAM OF LIFE.
And this leads me to consider dreams of life of
another character; which, though dreams, are
nevertheless true to our nature and destiny, and
do us nothing but good, whether they ever come
to pass or not.
First among these I would mention the young
man's dream of extensive usefulness, wrought out
with unsullied honor, and crowned with a good
namne.
It is highly creditable to human nature, that,
when men begin to dream of what they are to be
and do, they almost always picture their future
course as a highly beneficent one. Call this castle building or what you will, no matter whether it
ever comes to any thing or not, it proves' thus much
at least: that the first preferences, the natural lean ings of the bulk of mankind, are in favor of what
is noble and good. But soon, under the experi ences of life, at least in the case of many, a change
is apt to come over the spirit of this dream: they
begin to distrust it, to be ashamed of it, to turn it
into a jest. When this is the result of repeated
disappointment, and treachery on the part of others,
it is more an occasion of pity than rebuke; but not
.so when it takes place in consequence of a decay
of virtue in the individual himself.  In a majority
of cases, especially among the young, the change
may be traced, I suspect, to the indurating effects 
THE YOUNG MAN'S DREAM OF LIFE. 351
which habits of frivolity and guilty pleasure have
on the human heart: all the generous aspirations
of the soul are swallowed up and lost in "the lust
of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of
life." A multitude of discourses have been written on the bad effects of early dissipation; but the
most mournful among them all, because the most
radical among them all, is this morat scepticism,
this tendency to destroy all interest and all faith
in goodness, and in doing good.
There is no reason why any one should despair of
being constantly and eminently useful, who has a
disposition to be so. It is a vulgar error to suppose that wealth, or station, or genius are necessary;
very different has been the condition of most of
those whom mankind have hailed as their deliverers and benefactors. Even the Lord of Life took
the form of a servant, and chose his disciples from
among the humblest classes, though with the promise and clear foresight that he and they should
soon sit on thrones, and give laws to the world.
To realize the fondest dream of single-hearted,
unostentatious beneficence, nothing more is required than to have it always uppermost in your
thoughts to do the good thing, or say the good
word, which the occasion suggests and invites: -
to counsel a friend, when a word or a look may be
sufficient to decide the question of his whole life: 
352 THE YOUNG MAN'S DREAM OF LIFE.
to lift up your voice for the weak and the wronged;
to have the courage to be consistent and moderate
under the pressure of popular excitements; and in
general to win meii through the gentle and quiet
influence of a good example. Even professional
usefulness would seem to have but little to do with
what is commonly understood by professional distinction.   Who  is the useful clergyman?   Not
necessarily he who preaches what are called "great
sermons," but he who is looked up to by the young
and the old as the father of his flock; the umpire
in all differences; whose presence in seasons of
distress is as that of an angel of mercy; whose influence is also felt in education, as manifested not
only in the schools, but in the taste and manners
of the people, and even in their roads and dwellings, so that a stranger cannot drive through the
village without being impressed with the evidence
that a wise and good man has been there. Nothinig, I repeat it, is needed for all this, so far as it
depends on man, but the disposition.  The only
quality of mind for which Oberlin, the Protestant
pastor in the Ban de la Roche, can be said to have
been distinguished, was an earnest, straightforward
purpose to do good; and the memorial of what he
did is immortal.
The eyes of Christians are open, at length, to
the full significance of the teachings of the gospel 
THE YOUNG MAN'S DREAM OF LIFE. 353
on this subject.  "Whosoever will be great among
you, let him be your minister; and whosoever will
be chief among you, let him lb)e your servant."
Hence the principle of genuine philanthropy was
never so active in the community as at this moment.  You see it everywhere; in the perilous and
self-denying course of the foreign missionary, bearing the blessings of Christian civilization to the
most benighted parts of the earth; in the outcry of
indignation at the neglected condition of a mercenary soldiery, and in the unprecedented efforts to
mitigate their sufferings. You see it also, nearer
home, in the thousand forms of that sensitive and
restless compassion which extends its regards to
the humblest and most abject, -to children in factories, to the poor debtor, to the discharged prisoner, to the maniac pauper, to the squalid misery
collected in large cities, -" which pries," as it has
been said, "into the stores and water-casks of
every emigrant ship, which winces at every lash
laid on the back of a drunken sailor, which will
not suffer the thief in the hulks to be ill-fed or
over-worked." Men are beginning to feel, as they
never did before, that there is an important sense
in whtch every one is his brother's keeper. Moreover, this service, which men have been content to
regard hitherto as a part of duty, is beginning to
be regarded as a part of greatness. The military
w 
8354 THE YOUNG MIAN'S DREAM OF LIFE.
hero and the intellectual hero have long been wor shipped; the claims of the moral hero are begin ning to be recognized. A dream, do you call it?
But the success, far beyond the most sanguine ex pectations, which has attended many philanthropic
enterprises, and the glory which has crowned
it, show that it is a dream which is every day
coming to pass.  Merely as a dream also it makes a
man better and happier, for it raises him above
himself; and, even if he falls a martyr to it, how
much better to fall here, than on the field of battle;
where, as the greatest captain of the age has said,
the horrors of a victory are only exceeded by the
horrors of a defeat.
One word, in conclusion, on the young man's
dream of progress in knowledge and virtue; his
dream of self-perfection.
There is a sect of Christialns, who derive their
name from holding the doctrine that every one can
and ought to become morally perfect in the present
life. I am disposed to regard this as an idle and a
mischievous dream; but it is mischievous from the
circumstance that they look upon perfection as an
acquisition, and not as an ainm; it is a perfection
' which belongs to here and there one, and not a
perfectibility which belongs to all.  Let no one
reject or dismiss the dream of perfection in the
last-mentioned sense, on the ground that it per 
THE YOUNG MAN'S DREAM OF LIFE. 355
tains to enthusiasts alone.  If there ever was a
person not to be classed with enthusiasts, it was
Dr. Franklin; yet he tells us in his autobiography
that, wheni he was a young man, he conceived the
arduous project of making himself morally perfect;
and, from the manner in which he insists on the details, it is plain how much importance he attached
to the attempt.   In its most general signification, this dream of self-perfection simply expresses
the fact, that, not being satisfied with the actual,
we hold up before us an ideal good. As the artist
holds up before him an ideal beauty, which he
strives to copy and make his own, so the Christian
holds up before him an ideal self, which he strives
to realize. A life without these ideals would be
stagnation and moral death. And besides, what
can be more explicit than the teachings of the New
Testament on this point?  "Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is
perfect." " Till we all come in the unity of the
faith, and of the knowledge of the Son of God,
unto a perfect man, unto the measure of the fulness of Christ."
This, then, is the application of what I have said,
whichl I would impress on those especially, who are
worshipping with us for the last time. You have
dreamed of many things, while you have been here.
If you have dreamed of a life of ease and pleasure 
356 THE YOUNG MAN'S DREAM OF LIFE.
and self-indulgence, or of a life of selfish ambition
and worldly success and display, I beseech you
to dismiss the thought from this moment.   All
such dreams are false to your nature and destiny;
they are utterly unsuitable and impracticable in
this country; and under the most favorable circumstances they can only end in self-dissatisfaction
or self-contempt. But you have dreamed of better
things than these. You have dreamed of a life
of usefulness, and of a just and honorable fame.
Even in the midst of levities and indiscretions,
which have filled the hearts of those who love you
with inexpressible concern, you have yet dreamed
of a future career that would satisfy the best expectations of your friends, reflect honor on the
place of your education, and help to uphold the
institutions and liberties of our common country.
Soime of you have marked out for yourselves a line
of conduct which will lead to eminence in business
or in the secular professions; some of you propose to
devote yourselves more exclusively to scientific pursuits, in the hope, and with the purpose, to extend
the bounds of human knowledgce for human good;
some of you have made up your minds to give
yourselves, more immediately and more entirely, to
the great milnistry of humanity, and to the Church
of the Living God.   Reverence these dreams of
your youth.   Make your future lives the fulfil 
THE YOUNG MAN'S DREAM OF LIFE. 357
menit of these dreams. Remember, you are not to
live for the past, for that is gone; nor for the present, for while I am yet speaking that is also gone:
but for the future, which is all before you. And,
if faithful, you have the promise of help and of
victory, from that mysterious and awful and allsustaining Presence in which you will act and
live.
1855.
u 
MORAL DISTINCT'IONS IN
XXI.
MORAL DISTINCTIONS NOT SUFFICIENTLY RE       GARDED IN SOCIAL INTERCOURSE.
"He that walketh with wise men shall be wise; but a companion offools
shall be destroyed." -PROVERBS  xiii. 20.
HAT  "a man may be known by the company
he keeps," has passed into a proverb among
all nations, -thus attesting what has been the uni  versal experience. The fact would seem to be that
a man's associates either find hinm, or make him, like
themselves. An acute but severe critic of manners,
who was too often led by his disposition and cir cumstances to sink the philosopher in the satirist,
has said, "Nothing is so contagious as example.
Never was there any considerable goodl or ill ac tion, that hath not produced its like. We imitate
good ones through emulation; and bad ones through
* that malignity in our nature, which shame conceals,
and example sets at liberty."
This being the case, or any thing like it, all, I
think, must agree that moral distinctions are not
358 
SOCIAL INTERCOURSE.
sufficiently cared for in social  intercourse.   In
forming our intimacies we  are sometimes  determined by the mere accident of being thrown together; sometimes by a view to connections and
social position; sometimes by the fascination of
what are called companionable qualities: seldom,
I fear, by thoughtful and serious regard to the influence they are likely to have on character.  We
forget that other attractions, of whatsoever nature,
instead of compensating for moral unfitness in a
companion, only have the effect to make such unfitness the more to be dreaded.
Let nme introduce what I have to say on the importance of paying more regard to moral distinctions in the choice of friends, by a few remarks on
what are called, by way of distinction, companionable qualities, and on the early manifestation of a
free, sociable, confiding turn of mind. Most parents hail the latter, I believe, as the best of prognostics; and in some respects, perhaps, it is.  It
certainly makes the child more interesting as a
child, and more easily governed; it often passes
for precocity of talent; at any rate, men are willing to construe it into evidence of the facility with
which he will make his way in the world.  The
father is proud of such a son; the mother idolizes
him.  If from any cause he is brought into compa]ison with a reserved, awkward, and unyielding
359 
MORAL DISTINCTIOLVS IN
boy in the neighborhood, they are ready enough to
felicitate themselves, and others are ready enough
to congratulate them, on the difference. And yet
I believe I keep within bounds when I say, that,
of the two, there is more than an even chance that
the reserved, awkward, and unyielding boy, as he
grows up, will give his parents less occasion for
anxiety and mortification, and become in the end
the wiser and better man.  The reason is, that, if
a child from natural facility of disposition is easily
won over to good courses, he is also, from the same
cause, liable at any time to be easily seduced from
these good courses into bad ones. OIl the contrary,
where a child, from rigor or stubbornness of temper,
is peculiarly hard to subdue and manage, there is
this hope for a compensation: if by early training,
or the experience of life, or a wise foresight of
consequences, he is once set right, he is almost
sure to keep so.
It is not enough considered, that, in the present
constitution of society, men are not in so much
danger from want of good dispositions, as from
want of firmness and steadiness of purpose.
Hence it is that gentle and affectionate minds,
more perhaps than any others, stand in need of
solid principle and fixed habits of virtue and piety,
as a safeguard against the lures and fascinations of
the world. A man of a cold, hard, and ungenial
360 
SOCIAL INTERCOURSE.
nature is comparatively safe so far as the temptations of society go: partly because of this very impracticableness of his nature; and partly because
his companionship is not likely to be desired or
sought even by the bad: he will be left to himself.
The corrupters of innocence in social intercourse
single out for their prey men of companionable
qualities.   Through  his companionable  qualities
the victim is approached; and by his companionable qualities he is betrayed.
Let me not be misunderstood. Companionable
qualities are not objected to as such. When they
spring from genuine goodness of heart, and are the
ornament of an upright life, they are as respectable
as they are amiable; and it would be well if Christians and all good men cultivated them more than
they do.  If we would make virtue and religion to
be loved, we must make ourselves to be loved for
our virtue and religion; which would be done if
we were faithful to carry the gentleness and charity
of the gospel into our manners as well as into our
morals.   Nevertheless, we insist that companionable qualities, when they have no better source
than a sociable disposition, or, worse still, an easy
temp'er and loose principles, are full of danger to
their possessor, and full of danger to the community; especially where, from any cause, but
little regard is paid to' moral distinctions in social
16
361 
MORAL DISTINCTIONS IN
intercourse. We also say, that in such a state of
society the danger will be most imminent to those
whom we should naturally be most anxious to
save, - I mean, persons of a loving and yielding
turn of mind.
And this brings me back again to the position
taken in the beginning of this discourse.   The
reason why companionable qualities are attended
with so much danger is, that society itself is attended with so much danger; and the reason why
society itself is attended with so much danger is,
that social intercourse is not more under the control of moral principles, moral rules, and moral
sanctions.
My argument does not make it necessary to
exaggerate the evils and dangers of modern
society. I am willing to suppose that there have
been times when society was much less pure than
it is now; and again, that there are places where
it is much less pure than it is here: but it does not
follow that there are no evils or dangers now and
here.  On the contrary, it is easy to see tha,t there
may be stages in the progressive improvement of
society, where the improvement itself will have the
effect, not to lessen, but to increase the danger, so
far as good men are concerned. In a commnunlity
where vice abounds, where the public manners are
notoriously and grossly corrupt, good men are put
362 
SOCIAL INTERCOURSE.
on their guard. Good men will not be injured by
such society, for they will have nothing to do with
it. A broad line of demarcation is drawn between
what is expected from good men, and what is expected from bad men; so that the example of the
latter has no effect on the former except to admonish and to warn. But let the work of refinement and reform go on in general society until vice
itself is constrained to wear a decent exterior, until
an air of decorum and respectability is thrown over
all public meetings and amusements, and one consequence will be that the distinction between
Christians and the world will not be so clearly
seen, or so carefully observed, as before. The
standard of the world, from the very fact that it
is brought nearer to the standard of the gospel,
will be more frequently confounded with it; Christians will feel at liberty to do whatever the world
does, and the danger is, that they will come at
length to do it from the same principles.
Besides, are we sure that we have not formed
too favorable an opinion of the moral condition of
general society, - of that general society in the
midst of which we are now living, and to the influen'ce of which we are daily and hourly exposed?
We should remember that, in pronouncing on the
character of public opinion and public sentiment,
we are very likely to be affected and determined
363 
MORAL DISTINCTIONS IN
ourselves, not a little, by the fact that we share
in that very public opinion and public sentiment
which we are called upon to judge. I have no
doubt that virtue, in general, is esteemed even by
the world, or that, other things being equal, a man
of integrity will be preferred on account of his integrity.  But this is not enough.  It shows that
the multitude see, and are willing to acknowledge,
the dignity and worth of an upright course; but it
does not prove them to have that abhorrence for
sin, which it is the purpose and the tendency of the
gospel to plant in all minds.  If they had this settled and rooted abhorrence for sin, which marks
the Christian, and without which a man cannot be
a Christian, they would not only prefer virtue to
vice, "other things being equal," but they would
do so whether other things were equal or not; they
would knowingly keep no terms with vice, however
recommended or glossed over by interest or worldly
favor, or refined and elegant manners.
Now I ask whether general society, even as it
exists amongst us, will bear this test? Is it not
incontestable that very unscrupulous and very
dangerous men, if they happen to be men of talenlts, or men of fashion, or men of peculiarly
engaging manners, find but little difficulty in insinuating themselves into what is called good
society; nay, are often among those who are
364 
SOCIAL INTERCOURSE.
most courted and caressed? Some vices, I know,
are understood to put one under the social ban;
but it is because they offend, not merely against
morality and religion, but against taste, against
good-breedinig, against certain conventions of the
world. To be convinced of this it is only necessary to observe that the same, or even a much
larger amount of acknowledged criminality, manifested under other forms, is not found to be attended with the same result.  The mischiefs of
this state of things are felt by all; but especially
by those who are growing up in what are generally
accounted the most favored walks of life.   On
entering into society they see men of known
profligacy mingling in the best circles, and with
the best people, if not indeed on terms of entire
sympathy and confidence, at least on those of the
utmost possible outward respect and courtesy.
They see all this, and they see it every day; and
it is by such flagrant inconsistencies in thlose they
look up to for guidance, more perhaps than by any
other one cause, that their own principles and their
own faith are undermined. And besides, being
thus encouraged and countenanced in associating
with dissipated and profligate men in what is called
good society, they will be apt to construe it into
liberty to associate with them anywhere. At any
rate the intimacy is begun. As society is con
365 
MORAL D1ISTINCTIONS LV
stituted at present, corrupting intimacies are not
infrequently begun amidst all the decencies of
life, and, it may be, in the presence and under
the countenance and sanction of parents and
virtuous friends, which are afterwards renewed
and consummated, and this too by an easy, natural, and almost necessary gradation, amidst scenes
of excess,-perhaps in the haunts of ignominy
and crime.
If one should propose a reform in this respect, I
am aware of the difficulties and objections that
would stand in his wvay.
Some would affirm it to be impracticable in the
nature of things. They would reason thus: -" The
circle in which a man visits and moves is madefor
him, and not by him; at any rate, it is not, and
cannot be, determined  by moral  considerations
alone. Something depends on education; something on family connections or mere  vicinity;
something on similarity in tastes and pursuits;
something also on equality or approximation in
wealth and standing.   A  poor man, or a man
having a bare competency, if he is as virtuous
and industrious, is just as respectable as a rich
man; but it is plain that he cannot afford to
pitch his style of living, or his style of hospitality, on the same scale of expense. It is better
for both, therefore, that they should visit in dif
366 
SOCIAL INTERCOURSE.
ferent circles." Perhaps it is; but what then? I
am not recommending an amalgamation of the different classes in society. I suppose that such an
amalgamation would neither be practicable nor desirable in the existing state of tlings.  All I cointend for is, that in every class, open and gross
immorality of any kind should exclude  a man
from reputable company.  Will any one say that
this is impracticable? Let a lman, through untowvard events, but not by any fault or neglect
of his own, be reduced in his circumstances,- let
a man become generally odious, not in consequence
of any immorality, but because, perhaps, he has
embraced the unpopular side in politics or religion,- let a man omit some trifling formality whlich
is construed into a vulgarity, or a personal affront,
-and people do not appear to find much difficulty
in dropping the acquaintance. If, then, it is so
easy a thing to drop a man's acquaintance for
other reasons, and for no reason,- from mere
prejudice, from mere  caprice, -  will it still be
pretended that it cannot be done at the command
of duty and religion?
Again, it may be objected that, if you banish a
minan'tom general society for his immoralities, you
will drive him to despair, and so destroy the only remaining hope of his reformation.  What! are you
going to keep society corrupt in the vain expecta
367 
MORAL DISTINCTIONS IN
tion that a corrupt state of society will help to re  form its corrupt members? Besides, I grant that
we should have compassion on the guilty; but I
also hold that we should have compassion on the
innocent, too. Would you, therefore, allow a bad
man to continue ill good society, when the chances
are a thousand to one that he will make ot]hers as
bad as himself, and not more than one to a thou  sand that he himself will be reclaimed?  More  over, this reasoning is fallacious throughout. By
expelling a dissipated and profligate  mani from
good society, instead of destroying all hope  of
his recovery, you do in fact resort to the only
emainini, means of reforming one over whlom a
fear of God, and a sense of character, and the
upbraidings of conscience have lost their power.
What cares he for principle, or God, or an here  after? Nothing, therefore, is so likely to elcotlr age and embolden him to go on in his guilty
course, as the belief that he -will be allowed to
do so without the forfeiture of the only thing he
does care for, his reputable standing in the world.
On the other hand, nothing is so likely to arrest
him in these courses, and  bring  him to serious
* reflection, as the stern and determined threat
of absolute exclusion from good society, if lie
persists.
Another objection will also be made which has
368 
SOCIAL INTERCOURSE.
stronger claims on our sympathy and respect.  We
shall be told that the innocent as well as the guilty
will suffer, - the guilty man's friends and connections, who will probably feel the indigniity more
than he does himself. God forbid that we should
needlessly add to the pain of those who are thus
connected! But we must remember that the highest form of friendship does not consist in blindly
falling in with the feelings of those whom we
would serve, but in consulting what will be for
their real and permanent good.  If, therefore, the
course here recommended has been shown to be
lot only indispensable to public morals, but more
likely than any other to reclaim the offender, it is
clearly not more a dictate of justice to the conmunity, than of Christian charity to the parties
more immediately concerned. Consider, also, how
much is asked, when a good man is called upon to
open his doors to persons without virtue and without principle. Unless the social circle is presided
over by a spirit which will rebuke and frown away
immorality, iwhatever fashionable names  and disguises it may wear, - unless your sons and daughters can meet together without being in danger of
havirg their faith disturbed by the jeers of the
infidel, or their purity sullied by the breath of the
libertine, neither they nor you are safe in the most
innocent enjoyments and recreations.   Parents at
16*                  x
369 
MORAL DISTINCTIONS IN
least should take a deep interest in this subject,
if they do not wish to see the virtue, which they
have reared under the best domestic discipline,
blighted and corrupted before their eyes by the
temptations to which their children are almost
necessarily exposed in general society,-a society
which they cannot escape except by going out of
the world, and which they cannot partake of with out endangering the loss of what is of more value
than a thousand worlds.
I have failed altogether in my purpose in this
discourse if I have not done somnething to increase
your distrust of mere companionable qualities, when
not under the control of moral and religious princi ple; and also of the moral character and moral in fluence of general society, as at present constituted.
Still you may ask, "If I associate with persons worse
than myself, how can it be made out to be more
probable that they will drag me down to their level,
than that I shall lift them up to mine?"  The an swer to this question, I hardly need say, depends,
in no small measure, on the reason or motive which
induces the association. If you mix with the world,
not for purposes of pleasure or self-advantage,- if
you resort to society, not for society as an end, but
as a means to a higher end, the improvement of
society itself, -you do but take up the heavenly
mission which Christ began. For not being able
370 
SOCIAL INTERCOURSE.
to make this distinction, through the hollowness
and corruption of their own hearts, the Pharisees
thought it to be a just ground of accusation against
our Lord, that he was willing to be accounted the
firiend of publicans and sinners. Let the same mind
be in  ou that was also in Christ J'esus, and we cannot doubt that the spirit which inspires you will
preserve you wherever you may go. It is of such
persons that our Lord has said: "Behold, I give
unto you power to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy; and
nothing shall by any means harm you." Very far
am I, therefore, from denying that we may do good
in society, as well as incur danger and evil. Even
in common friendships frequent occasions will
present themselves for mutual service, for mutual
counsel and admonition. Let me impress upon
you this duty. Perhaps there is not one among
you all, who has not at this moment companions
on whom he can confer an infinite blessing. If
there is a weak place in their characters, if to your
knowledge they are contemplating a guilty purpose, if they are on the brink of entering into dangerous connections, by a timely, affectionate, and
earnest remonstrance you may save them from
ruin. Remember, we shall all be held responsible,
not only for the evil which we do ourselves, but
for the evil which we might prevent others firom
371 
372 DJSTINCTIONS IN SOCIAL INTERCOURSE.
doing: it is not enough that we stand; we must
endeavor to hold up our friends.
Very different from this, however, is the ordinary
commerce of society; and hence its danger.  If we
mix with the world for the pleasure it affords, we
shall be likely to be among the first to be reconciled to the freedom and laxity it allows.  The
world is not broughl t up to us, but we sink down
to the world; the drop becomes of the consistence
and color of the ocean into which it falls; the ocean
itself remains unchanged.  In the words of aii old
writer, " Though the well-disposed will remain
some good space without corruption, yet time, I
know not how, worketh a wounild in him. Which
weakness of ours considered, and easiness of nature, apt to be deceived, looked into, they do best
provide for themselves that separate themselves
as far as they can from  the bad, and draw as
nigh to the good, as by any possibility they can attainii to." " He that walketh with wise men shall
be wise; but a companion of fools shall be
destroyed."
1849-1858. 
ST. THOMAS, OR THE DOUBTING DISCIPLE. 373
XXII.
ST THOMAS, OR THE DOUBTING DISCIPLE.
"But Thomas, one of the Twivelve, called Didymus, was not with them
when Jesus camne.   The other disciples said  unto himi, We  have seen
the Lord.   Butt he said unto them, Except I shall see in his hands
the print of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails,
and thrust my hand into his side, I will not believe." -JOIiN  xx.
24, 25.
T is a singular fact that the company of the
Apostles, though but twelve in number, comprised almost every possible varietv of mind and
temper. There were the contemplative and affectionate John, the vehement Peter, the guileless and
confiding Nathaniel, the judicious James, the selfish
and plotting Judas, the sceptical Thomas.  And I
cannot bring myself to believe that this was accidental, or that it was without a particular design
in the overruling providence of God. Certain it
is, that, for us who must believe in the leading
facts of Christianity on historical testimony, the
circumstance here referred to has given a peculiar
weight to that testimony. It shows that the evidence for these facts to eye-witnesses was of such 
ST. THOMAS, OR
a nature as to produce conviction, not merely in
one sort of minds, but in all sorts of minds, and
among the rest, in minds constitutionally distrust ful and ilncredulous.
Under this point of view, let our attention now
be called to the conduct and character of Thomas,
who, though "one of the Twelve," had a mind
so slow to accept the supernatural, that he could
say when told of our Lord's resurrection, " Except
I shall see in his hands the print of the nails,
and put my finger into the print of the nails, and
thrust my hand into his side, I will not believe."
Let us begin by glancing at what had been pre viouslv said of this Apostle by the sacred writers,
considered as defining his position and illustrating
his character.
He is introduced to us in the first instance,
when Jesus was on the eve of suddenly returning
to Judea, that he might raise Lazarus from the
dead. Jesus had just left that country, retiring
with the Twelve into Peraea on the other side
of Jordan, which was beyond the jurisdiction of
the High Priest and his Council at Jerusalem; and
this he had done partly at least that he might es,cape out of their hands, for thev were now bent on
his destruction. On his announcing unexpectedly
his determination to go back, his disciples remonstrated with one voice, for the impression of the
374 
THE DOUBTING DISCIPLE.
blind fury with which the ruling party among the
Jews were actuated against him was still fresh in
their minds.   They protested, therefore, against
the temerity of putting himself so soon into their
power again; but when they found it was to no
avail, Thomas turned round, and said to his fellow-disciples, "Let us also go that we may die
with him."
Here certainly there was no want of affection,
fidelity, or self-devotion; but the action of these
fine qualities was mingled with gloomy forebodings
which had their spring in a nature prone to doubt
and despondency.  In moral principle and generous feeling, Thomas does not seem to have fallen
below the other Apostles; his infirmity consisted
in a constitutional tendency to distrust, which
tempted him to look at the dark side of things.
He did not doubt the reality or the obligation of
virtue; what he doubted was the promises made
to it, at least as regards this life. He was not a
sceptic in respect to principles, but only in respect
to promises.  Accordingly, conscience and kind affection never forsook him, though hope did. In
the particular case under consideration, he had 1no
intention of deserting his Master, come what would.
He felt, he knew, that Master to be worthy of any
sacrifices on his part he could be called upon to
make, even though they should involve the sacri
375 
ST. THOIMA4S, OR
flee of his life.  He was ready to die with him or
for him.   Finding it impossible, therefore, to dis suade our Lord from the rash enterprise, as his
Apostles  regarded  it, on  which  he was  bent,
Thomas was the foremost to say, " Then let us
follow him; let us stand by him to the last; let
no one entertain the thoug,ht of abandoning him
now." These certainly were utterances of love
and duty, and not the less so because half in
despair.
The same spirit is also evinced by this apostle
on his next appearance in the evangelical narra tive.  The Supper of the Passover, the last which
our Lord took with his disciples, was over; the
Traitor had just left them in order to keep his appointment with a party whom the High Priest had
sent to arrest Jesus; and Jesus himself, though
darkly and as it were by degrees, as they were
able to bear it, had announced his approaching
departure.  MIeanwhile, the whole company had
become exceedingly sorrowful and depressed by
the turn which the conversation had taken, and
the gloomy but indistinct apprehensions it had
awakened in their minds; and it was with a view
to alleviate, as far as might be, this despondency,
that Jesus began to speak of the benefits to accrue
to them and others from his going away.  "In my
Father's house are many mansions: if it were not
376 
THE DOUBTING DISCIPLE.
so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place
for you.  And if I go and prepare a place for you,
I will come again and receive you to myself; that
where I am, there ye may be also.  And whither
I go ye know, and the way ye know."  And so,
it would seem, they might; but a veil was on their
hearts, through the Jewish prejudice respecting the
earthly kingdom of the Messiah, which hindered
them from understanding these words to refer to
his death., to his passing into another world.
Thomas especially, - who was, as we have seen,
naturally slow, cautious, and distrustful, depending much on the evidence of the senses, and finding but small encouragement in vague prospects
of good, and who, in this particular instance, like
Peter before him, appears to have understood
Jesus as alluding to some temporary place of concealmient to which he was about to retire from
his pursuers, -breaks out into an expression of
something like impatience: "Lord, we know not
where you are going; how then can we know the
way?"
Here again, however, there is no want of affection or fidelity.   On the contrary, it is this very
affection and fidelity which is at the bottom of his
uneasiness and dissatisfaction. It is not his indifference, but his love for Jesus, which makes him
impatient of the obscurity in which the latter had
377 
ST. THOMAS, OR
wrapped his thoughts and his plans. He is solici tous to know and see with his own eyes the retreat
concluded on, and the way to it, that he and the
rest of the disciples might judge of its security;
and this, too, not so much on his own account as
on that of his revered Master. Whatever else
he suspects, he never, you will observe, suspects
Jesus himself; he never distrusts him; he never
betrays, in the slightest degree, a want of con fidence in the entire truthfulness and rectitude
of our Lord: which is the more remarkable, as
that, from  the sceptical turn of his mind, was
almost the only thing in which he was disposed
to trust.
The third and only other occasion, on which
Thomas comes forth prominently into notice iii
the gospels, is in connection with the evidences
of our Lord's ]resurrection.
Notwithstanding all our Lord had said and done
to prepare the Twelve for his violent and igno minious death, it is evident that this event took
themi by surprise, disconcerted all their cherished
hopes, and led them to give up all for lost. It
was not that they could remember any thing ill
his life, any thing which had transpired in their
long and familiar intercourse with him, that should
abate their confidence in his truth and sincerity, or
in the reality of his many wonderful qualities and
378 
THE DOUBTING DISCIPLE.
mighty works; but the single fact that he had
been arrested, and given over to die an ignominious death, was utterly irreconcilable with their
preconceived notions of THE MESSIAH.  For this
reason, and for this reason alone, they thought it
could not be " He who was to restore Israel," and
therefore that they must "look for another."  Accordingly, having come to the conclusion that now
nothing more was to be done for the common cause,
each one's fears prompted him to consult his own
safety, and the little band broke up and fled. Still,
however, they lingered about in Jerusalem and the
neighboring villages; and after the Crucifixion, and
especially after the third day had come, a common
interest, a common danger, a common affection,
cooperating, perhaps, with faint hopes that their
Master might rise from the dead, founded on illunderstood intimations dropped by him while living, and still further quickened by vague rumors
in circulation that he had appeared to the women
at the sepulchre, - drew many of them together
again. And, while they were together, Jesus came
and stood in the midst of them, convincing them,
by indubitable signs addressed to their senses, of
the reality of his presence and the identity of his
person.
Thomas, however, was not at this meeting, his
constitutional slowness and distrust making him to
379 
S T. THOMAS, OR
be among the last to rally. And when at last he
came, and was told by the others that they had
seen the Lord, the same sceptical turn of mind
made him refuse to give credit to what they said.
He  could not believe it; it was too good to be
true; they had been too ready and too easy in
their faith; they had not applied sufficiently severe
tests; their wishes and their excited imaginations
had played into the hands of the illusion; at best,
it must have been a phantasm, a mere apparition:
at any rate, he should so regard it, until with his
own eyes he should see the prints of the nails, and
with his own fingers touch the wounds in the hands
and the side.
Let us not be hasty in execrating or blaming an
incredulity, which, under the providence of God,
has been made to answer a wise and beneficent
end; which does not necessarily involve guilt, and
was met, moreover, with so much  kindness and
forbearance by our Lord himself.  Those who are
for making no distinction among sceptics would
do well to remember, that there are three distinct
and independent sources of doubt or unbelief, each
of which stamps it with a different and peculiar
character.
In the first place, there is the doubt or unbelief
which springs from moral unfitness or prejudice. By
this I mean the difficulty a bad or unspiritual man
380 
TIHE DOUBTING DISCIPLE.
finds in appreciating or accepting the revelations
of the gospel, merely because he is a bad or unspiritual man.  This difficulty arises partly from
the essential unwelcomeness of these revelations
to such a person, and partly from their not finding
any response in a selfish, worldly, or corrupt heart.
This is the class of whom the Scriptures speak as
being "slow of heart to believe;" where there is
no living sympathy with spiritual truth, there can
be no living faith in spiritual truth.  Moreover, I
would not have you understand that what is here
said of bad or unspiritual men applies to those
only who have been guilty of high crimes and
misdemeanors, or who are of vicious and depraved
character in the estimation of the world. It implies, indeed, to a certain extent, a deadness or
perversion of the moral sensibilities; this, however, may be owing, not to our love of evil, but
to our want of the love of good,- to our want of
faith and higoh aspiration and self-devotion. No
heart is more inaccessible to religious impressions
than that of your cool, prudent, self-possessed man
of the world, who looks upon gross vice as a mistake, upoin virtue as an amiable enthusiasm, and
upon'heaven as a dream.
This sort of scepticism, all will admit, argues
great and serious moral defects, and is highly
culpable; but there is no reason to suspect that
381 
ST. THOMAS, OR
the scepticism of Thomas resembled it, either in
its origin or its results.
Another source of scepticism is to be found in
the disgusts occasioned by the errors and corruptions
which have been nixed up with Christianity, and by
the inconsistencies of nominal Christians. Here again
there is doubtless ground for blame; but much the
largest portion of it should fall on those who cause
these disgusts. Nothing is easier than to say, that
Christianity ought to be judged by what it is in
itself; above all, that it never should be mlade responsible for the misconduct of men who say that
they are Christians, but are not.  Nobody doubts
that these are very proper discriminations; but we
must not expect that all well-disposed persons will
make them. Do what we may, say what we may,
actual Christianity will pass with most persons for
real Christianity, and the inconsistencies of nominal
Christians will be charged upon the bad, or at best
upon the imperfect, working of the whole system.
This being the case, when men read the history of
what is called THE CHURCH, and see what absurdities have been taught, and what abominations have
been committed under the abused name of Christianity, who can wonder that the faith of not a few
has been more or less disturbed; ill other words, that
their disgusts have so often refused to stop where
undoubtedly they ought to stop? I am disposed to
382 
THE DOUBTING DISCIPLE.
regard this as a common source of doubt; and the
more so in proportion as anll inquisitive and critical
spirit prevails. I go further. When this doubt is
unaccompanied by irreverence or moral indifference, nay, when it springs, as it sometimes does,
from an instinctive repugnance to admit any thing
as conling from God which derogates from His
perfections, or sits like an incubus on the reason
and liberties of man, I cannot help thinking that it
is to a certain extent excusable. At any rate, the
most guilty ones are those who have occasioned the
scandal; not those who are misled by it. Be this,
however, as it may, it is obvious that the scepticism here described is not that which troubled the
apostle.
I pass, therefore, to the consideration of a third
species of incredulity, having its source in organization, or in some radical differences of the mental
constitution. While the multitude love the marvellous and are easily carried away by it, even to
the adoption of the wildest and most absurd vagaries, it is not to be denied that individuals are
occasionally to be met with in the world, all whose
tendencies are to the opposite extreme, - individuals -who can hardly bring themselves, on any
evidence short of mathematical or ocular demonstration, to credit statements involving the extraordinary or the supernatural. Such scepticism, as all
383 
ST. THOMAS, OR
must perceive, is strictly speaking a natural and not
a moral defect; - a misfortune, doubtless, and one
which often exerts a baneful influence on the char acter, but, in itself considlered, in no sense a crime.
If, indeed, we yield to this natural bias further or
more easily than our own reason iand conscience
approve; above all, if we nourish it, and pride our selves upon it, as a sign of mental superiority, in
that case we make it our own, and must answer
for it as we best can. On the other hand, if we
watch against the bias in question, as we-would
against any other natural infirmity, or constitu tional temptation, -if the doubting disciple is a
disciple still, sincere and humble, - in other words,
if we doubt only that we may believe, and question
only that we may make the foundations of our faith
more sure, it is certain that a naturally sceptical
turn of mind will have no other effect tlani to af ford us a better opportunity for the display of our
love of the truth.
Those who are for showing no mercy to involun —
tary sceptics of this description would do well to
consider how differently they were treated by the
Lord himself. At the first manifestation of Jesus
to his assembled followers after his resurrection,
Thomas, as we have said, was not present.  Eight
days afterwards they were together again, Thlomas
being with them; and Jesus stood in the midst and
384 
THE DOUBTING DISCIPLE.
said, "Peace be unto you."  "Then saith he to
Thomas, reach hither thy finger, and behold my
hands; and reach hither thy hand, and thrust it
into my side; and be not faithless but believing.
And Thomas answered and said unto him, My
Lord and my God!"
Here was no denunciation, no upbraiding of the
incredulity of the affectionate and honest, but
doubting, disciple; on the contrary, an earnest solicitnde to overcome that incredulity by evidence
suited to his cast of mind.  And the appeal resulted
in complete success, as his exclamation of astonishment and recognition sufficiently shows.
Some persons are so taken up with remote doctrinal inferences firom this exclamation of Thomas,
as hardly to notice its more direct and immediate
bearings.   Perhaps it is not to be wondered at,
that those who find evidence in other parts of Scripture to convince them that Christ is God, in the
absolute sense of that word, should also think to
see here the traces of that belief.   Even they,
however, must be aware how dangerous it must be
to lay much stress on mere words, or turns of
expression extorted by circumstances so exciting,
so peculiar, so unexpected, so astounding.  Suppose a friend, whose funeral we attended three days
ago, should stand before us now. Who can tell
precisely in what terms he would utter his sense of
17                 Y
385
I 
ST. THOMAS, OR
the fact, coupled with the bewilderment of his
faculties as to how it could be? One thing is suf ficiently obvious: it would be likely to be, as it
was with Thomas, in the form of a religious excla mation; and ought perhaps to be interpreted, in
both cases, as being little else than a religious ex clamation, - an expression of feeling and not of
thought.  In the case of Thomas it signified, to
be sure, that he no longer had any doubts about
the question at issue; but the question at issue in
his mind was the fact of the resurrection, and had
nothing to do with any of the modern theories for
or against the Divine nature of Christ.   Very
probably the question of the resurrection was mixed
up in the mind of Thomas with that of the Mes siahship, so that one suggested and involved the
other. The resurrection proved Jesus to be the
Messiah; but certainly it did not prove him to be
God; on the contrary, it assumed that he had been
dead. What Jew could have been made to believe,
or even to entertain the conception, that Jehovah,
the only Being whom he acknowledged as God in
the absolute sense of that word, had just risen from
the dead?  If therefore in the exclamation, "My
Lord and my God," we must understand Thomas
as meaning to apply both appellatives to the risen
Jesus, we must still presume that the latter is to be
taken in a secondary or figurative sense, according
386 
THIE DOUBTING DISCIPLE.
to a common use of it in his day, which consisted
in calling "them Gods, unto whom the word of
God came."
The instructive lesson to be gathered from this
apostle's renunciation of his doubts is not doctrinal,
but practical. It intimates, in the first place, that
if the sceptic's love of truth does not fail him, he
is almost sure to attain at last to the truth itself;
and secondly, that the only way in which he can
be saved from the evil, and it may be the sin, of
doubt, is by being converted from the doubt.
There are sceptics, I believe, who think to find
excuse for their scepticism, though persisted in, on
the ground that "one of the Twelve " was a sceptic like themselves. And so he was for a time;
but if his scepticism had not yielded to the evidence, -in other words, if he had continued
faithless and unbelieving, Judas Iscariot was not
more certain to be ejected from his apostleship than
he.   Those who think themselves innocent  and
safe, because they begin as the apostle did, must
take care that they also end as the apostle did. Irn
one word, if they are like him in a constitutional
difficulty and slowness of belief, and in honest
hesitation, they must also take care to be like him
in not allowing these habits to engender indifference, or to make them less open to conviction, or
less disposed to accept the proof when it comes.
"U87 
ST. THOMAS, OR
Will it then be said, that the proof which came
to Thomas does not and cannot come to us?
Will the sceptics of the nineteenth century
urge: " If ocular demonstration were vouchsafed
to us, it would instantly disperse our doubts. We
also should be glad to believe.   Let the same
appeal be made to us that was made to Thomas,
'Reach hither thy finger and behold my hands;
and reach hither thy hand and thrust it into my
side; and be not faithless but believing,' - and we
should doubtless do as he did. So that after all,
taking the Scriptures as authority, we are just like
the apostle; except that Providence does not inter fere in our behalf, as it did in his.  In our circum stances, Thomas would have persisted in his scepti cism as we persist in our scepticism."
Granting for a moment that it were so, - grant ing also that persistence in scepticism, under the cir cumstances here supposed, is not a fault, it by no
means follows that it is not an evil, and a great
evil. Moreover, there are evils which, though not
entering themselves into moral character, affect
moral character nevertheless most seriously; and
want of faith, even if nothing but an evil in itself
considered, is certainly an evil of this description.
Want of faith, religious scepticism, by whatsoever
cause induced, no matter whether a sin or a mere
misfortune, must have the effect to unsettle our
388 
THE DOUBTING DISCIPLE.
confidence in the highest motives to duty of every
kind, and in all motives to duty of the highest
kind, turning our best and most distinctive aspirations, as immortal beings and the children of God,
into a passing and mocking dream.
But is it true that scepticism is any more reasonable or excusable now than formerly? Of course
we cannot seriously insist on being eye-witnesses
of what took place twenty centuries ago. It is
enough to know that there were eye-witnesses,
and that they were convinced; nay, more, that the
most sceptical man now alive had a representative
there, in the person of "one of the Twelve," and
he was convinced. What satisfied one sceptical
man we may reasonably presume would have satisfied any sceptical man; and here the question
obviously is, not whether you or I were actually
present, but whether, if we had been present, we
should probably have been satisfied.
And besides, if contemporaries had a kind of
evidence which is denied to us, we also, on our
part, have a kind of evidence which was denied to
them.  "Refrain from these men," said Gainaliel,
"and let them alone: for if this counsel or this
worlt be of men, it will come to nought; but if it
be of God, ye cannot overthrow it; lest haply ye
be found even to fight against God."  Now, "this
counsel or this work" has stood. Nay, more, it
389 
S 7T. THOMAS, OR
has not only become the accepted religion of the
whole civilized world, but modern civilization is
built upon it.  We have, therefore, a proof of its
Divine origin, which the most enlightened Jew of
apostolic times regarded as more decisive than any
to be had by contemporaries and eye-witnesses.
Nor is this all.  Every truth which appeals to
the sentiments as well as the understanding- as
in the case of taste, morals, or religion- must de  pend more or less for its reception on the fact
that the minds to whom it is addressed have been
educated up to it.   The sentiments appealed to
must be already developed, at least to some de  gree, or those who make the appeal will "speak
into the air."  An unspiritual man must believe
in spiritual truths, if he believes in them at all,
on authority alone; but the spiritual man has a
witness in himself.   Hence  our Lord's reply to
his once doubting, but now believing  disciple:
"Thomas, because thou hast seen me  thou hast
believed: blessed are they that have not seen and
yet have believed."   A  passage  not unlike this
is found in one of the Jews' books. "A prose  lyte," we are there told, "is more beloved of the
3 Holy Blessed God than all the Israelites before
Mount Sinai; for they saw and heard the thunder  ings, flames, and lightnings; but the proselyte has
not seen this, yet, devoting himself to God, hath
390 
THE DOUBTING DISCIPLE.
taken upon him the kingdom of heaven." The
meaning is, that the best men hardly require outward evidence of any kind to convince them of
spiritual realities. They find the witness in themselves,- in that spiritual tact, in that inward sense
of heavenly and divine things, whlich constitutes
the essence of a living and saving faith.
1857.
391 
THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT.
XXIII.
THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT.
"And seeing the multitudes, he went up into a mountain; and when he
was set, his disciples came unto him: and he opened his mouth and
taught them." - MATTHEW V. 1, 2.
T the age of thirty, our Lord entered on his
public ministry, and was baptized by John.
Then followed his Temptation in the Wilderness, —
a mysterious experience, which perhaps is best ex plained by supposing it to have been the tempta tion attendant on a new consciousness of power.
It was suggested to him that he could take this
power and turn it to selfish purposes, supplying
his physical wants, and acquiring distinction,
wealth, and fame. But the temptation had no
effect upon him; it did not even so much as sully
the purity of his thoughts; though "in all points
tempted like as we are, yet without sin." After
3 that, he proceeded to collect around him a chosen
and small band of disciples, to be near his person
continually, listening to his conversation, asking
him questions, and beholding his mighty deeds;
392 
THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT.
that they, at some future day, might be in a condition to take up the same great work when he
should be called to lay it down.
He was now in Galilee, in the neighborhood of
Capernaum. Multitudes had begun to flock to
him from all parts of the country, some attracted
by the fame of his wisdom and his miracles, others
by a natural curiosity to see with their own eyes
and hear with their own ears a man about whom
there were so many questions and so much mystery. Up to this time, he seems to have done
but little towards declaring himself, - nothing
certainly which amounted to what is commonly
understood by defining one's position.  He felt
that to delay doing this any longer would be
hardly consistent with openness and fairness of
conduct; his followers, before they went any
further, ought to know what they had to expect from him, and what he expected from
them in return. Full of this idea, he repaired to
an elevated spot in the vicinity, from which to
address his disciples and the multitude; and,
when these had come and arranged themselves
around him, he opened his mouth and taught
themi, pronouncing the longest, and in my judgment, beyond question, the most important and
significant, of all his discourses, - the Sermon on
the Mount.
17*
393 
394   THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT.
I now propose to call your attention to this discourse under a single point of view, that of its
being the original and first proclamation of the
distinctive peculiarities of Christianity, -a formal
statement by our Lord himself of what would be
required in the citizens of the new kingdom he
had come to set up,- the platform, so to speak,
the proglamme of the new movement.
Restricting myself to this large and general view
of the subject, it will not be necessary to take up
minor criticisms; but there is one which deserves
a passing notice, as it goes to the extent of
questioning whether any such proclamation was
ever made; whether, in short, the Sermon on the
Mount was ever delivered, -that is to say, as we
find it in Matthew. Every thoughtful reader of
the New Testament must have observed that
there is a report in Luke of apparently the same
discourse, though in a mutilated form, and with
considerable additions and variations; and furthermore, that there are disjointed fragments of this
discourse occurring from time to time in both
Luke and Mark, apparently as if suggested by
passing events. To reconcile and explain these
facts, two theories have been advanced.  One is,
that the discourse was really delivered as given
by Matthew, what we find of it in the other
Evangelists being of the nature of imperfect 
THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT.
sketches, or mere repetitions. The other is, that
Matthew, in order that the force and consistency
of our Lord's teachings might be more felt, has
brought together what he said on various occasionis, and given it as one continuous and connected discourse.   The first mentioned of these
theories is to me the most probable and satisfactory; either, however, may be adopted without essentially affecting my argument. In one
case, we have our Lord laying down in the beginning what his followers must be in order to enter
into the kingdom of heaven; in the other, we have
in one place a collection and summary of all our
Lord's teachings on the subject, inculcating, however, the self-same doctrine.
There is also another objection to the use I am
going to make of the Sermon on the Mount, which
it will be proper to consider for a moment in the
outset. It is said, that, to ascertain what constitutes the essence of Christianity, we must resort,
not to the first statements of it, but to the last, on
the ground that every system is a gradual developmenit from small and imperfectly understood beginnings. Now, in replying to this, I would not be
thought to exclude the great law of development,
even from Christianity.   Undoubtedly it has its
place there, but not, as I suppose all will agree,
without some distinctions and qualifications.  For
395 
396   THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT.
instance, I suppose it will hardly be pretended
by any believer in Christ as a Teacher come
from God, that he did not know what constitutes a Christian in the beginning, as well as at
any subsequent period. The development, therefore, did not consist so mnuch in his teachings
as he understood them, as in the capacity of
his disciples  to  understand  him.   It did  not
have the effect to supersede the Sermon on the
Mount, but only to enable his followers to enter more entirely into its profound significance.
Again, by development, in this connection, is not
meant the transforming of one idea into another
essentially different, but only that the essential
contents of the primitive idea are more fully unfolded and carried out. Accordingly, if the strictly
moral and spiritual basis assigned to Christianity
in the Sermon on the Mount is made to give place
to a doctrinal or ecclesiastic basis, we affirm that
this is not development; it is change, substitution,
contradiction.   Christianity begins by being one
thing, and ends by being another.  Furthermore,
when our Lord said, "I have yet many things to
say unto you, but ye cannot bear them now," I do
not suppose he intended that the time would come
when it would be necessary for men  to take an
entirely different view of what constitutes the
central idea, the essential nature, of the Gospel. 
THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT.
What he meant was simply this: that there were
connections, applications, and extensions of the
great doctrine of Christian holiness, which they
from their Jewish prejudices, and especially from
their worldly conceptions of the Messianic Kingdom, were not as yet in a condition to appreciate.
I return, therefore, to the position taken above:
the Sermon on the Mount is a formal and express
answer to the question, which was on the lips of
every one in the vast throng of listeners.  All
desired to know, all had come there to learn, what
this new movement meant; and what was expected
from those who took part in it; what they were to
gain, and what they were to do and be in order
to gain it. Our Lord knew their thoughts, their
wants, their longings, in one word, their particular state of mind; and the whole purpose and drift
of his discourse was to meet, inform and satisfy
it.  Evidently it was so understood at the time by
all parties, and must, therefore, be so understood
now.
If, after what has been said, it should still be
contended that the Sermon on the Mount was a
Jewish affair, because it was originally addressed
to Jews, and abounds in references to the Old
Testament, the reply is obvious. The Jews are
addressed, not, however, merely as Jews, but as
men; moreover, the teachings of the Old Testa
397 
8398   THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT.
ment, or the construction put upon them, are referred to as utterly insufficient, making it necessary
that there should be a restatement of the conditions
of Divine favor and acceptance.   And this restatement as here given is entirely general, general ill all its requirements and in all its promises
thereby showing incontestably that it was not designed for one age only, or for one people only, but
for all ages and for all mankind.
Thus much being conceded, we can be at no loss
where to go, and where not to go, in order to ascertain what constitutes a Christian.
In the first place, we are not to go to the Old
Testament. In saying this, I do not mean to call
in question the Divine origin or the Divine authority of the Mosaic dispensation.   Some  persons find it hard to conceive how any thing
coming  from an absolutely  perfect  Being  can
be otherwise than perfect in itself, and therefore
incapable of improvement. But they forget that,
in God's dealings with imperfect beings like ourselves, perfection becomes a relative term. That
constitution of government, that system of education, that dispensation of religion, is a perfect one,
which is perfectly adapted to the condition and
wants of the community.  In this sense, the Law
was as perfect as the Gospel, - nay, for its time
and place more so, because more suitable and prac 
THE SERMON ON THE MO UNT.
ticable. But it by no means follows that the Law
is the Gospel. On the contrary, the best thing
that can be said of the Law is, that it prepared the
way for the Gospel, -" our schoolmaster to bring
us unto Christ."  We  even know that provisions
were retained by Moses, not because they were
right, nor because he liked them, but because the
people were not as yet in a condition to receive
any thing  better.   "And  Jesus answered and
said unto them, For the hardness of your heart,
he wrote you this precept." It is true that our
Lord has said again, in that very Sermon on the
Mount which we are now recommending, "Think
not that I am come to destroy the Law or the
Prophets; I am not come to destroy, but to fulfil."
Here, however, we must understand him as meaning that he had not come to set aside or frustrate
what had been the main purpose of all preceding
dispensations, namely, the progressive education of
the human race, but only to carry out that purpose
more fully. Accordingly, he goes on to remind his
hearers of what had been "said to themn of old
time," on topic after topic, and to set in strong
contrast with it, in each case, what he requires,
showing incontestably that every preceding dispensation is to be regarded as inadequate and
merely provisional.
Under these circumstances, it certainly would
399 
400    THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT.
not seem a very reasonable course to resort to the
Law in order to ascertain what the Gospel enjoins.
Yet nothing is more common. Where there is
one New Testament Christian, there are two, if
not twenty, Old Testament Christians.  Look at
the importance which the" Church of Rome at taches to outward ordinances and an imposing
ritual. Not a syllable can be found in the New
Testament requiring it, or favoring it, or sanction ing it. Much of it comes from paganism, and the
rest firom the Old Testament. Protestants, also,
though approaching it from another direction,
have fallen into the same error of mistaking the
Law for the Gospel. Exalting the authority of the
Bible, and of the whole Bible, against the authority
of tradition and the Church, they have sometimes
neglected to make the proper discriminations as
to the purpose and use of the several parts of the
Bible. Who can read the history of the Scotch
Covenanters, or of our Puritan ancestors, without
being struck with the fact that their characters,
though admirable in many respects, were yet seri ously hurt by being modelled to so great an extent,
inwardly as well as outwardly, after the heroes of
the Old Testament? One of the Apostolic Fathers
has said: " It is inconsistent to speak of Jesus
Christ, and at the same time to follow Judaism.
For Christianity hath not believed in Judaism, 
THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT.
but Judaism in Christianity, that those of every
tongue, having believed in God, might be united
together." l
Again, in order to learn what is essential to the
Christian character, we are not to go, as it seems to
me, certainly not in the first instance, to the Epistles
of Paul. Here the objection is not that the standard is an imperfect one, as ill the case of Judaism,
but that, from the nature and form of the compositions, it is imperfectly stated or hard to be
understood.   They are letters written to small
communities, struggling under peculiar difficulties
and trials, and in danger from peculiar local traditions and prejudices, or from the officious interference of this or that false teacher. Now we say
that such writings must, by necessity, be more or
less local and temporary both in substance and form.
It was not the Apostle's aim to give a full and connected view of what constitutes a Christian, but
to impart special instruction, as the case seemed to
require; that is to say, to guard the particular
community he was addressing against certain
errors in opinion or practice, to which he had
reason to believe that particular community was
especially liable.
I do not deny that we have in these Epistles the
application of Christian principles to a great variety
1 Iqnatius ad Miagnes, ~ 2.
z
401 
402    THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT.
of conditions and circumstances; and hence their
interest and value.   But in order to take these
principles and apply them to ourselves, we have
first to disengage them from all that is special and
peculiar in their form and dress as originally
applied by the Apostle; and this is often no easy
task. Because we have before us Palil's Epistle to
the Romans, or that to the Galatians, it would be
presumption in us to assume that we are therefore
in a condition to say what sort of an Epistle he
would write to the Churches in Boston or Cambridge, if hlie were now to return to life.  From
this and other causes, the difficulty of understanding the Apostle was felt and acknowledged even
by his contemporaries. Peter, expressly referring to
his Epistles, says, " In which are some things hard
to be understood, which they that are unlearned
and unstable wrest, as they do also the other Scriptures, unto their own destruction."   Whence it
appears that honesty of purpose and conmmon-sense
are not the sole requisites of a safe interpreter of
these writings; that the obvious sense is not
always the true sense; that the " unlearned,"
however piously disposed, merely from not knowing how the obvious sense is to be qualified by
the occasion and circumstances, may wrest the
passage to his own destruction. At the best, all
we can hope to do in such cases is to seize and dis 
THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT.
engage the Christian principle which the Apostle
intended to apply in a very different state of things
from the present, and apply it anew. Certainly,
therefore, it would seem to be better and safer to
take that very principle, as given in its simplest
and most intelligible form ill the Sermon on the
Mount.
But there are other discourses of our Lord, and
above all his life, his own actions and sufferings, to
indicate what we ought to be and do in order to
become his faithful and consistent followers. And
this is true. Far from me the thought to question
or undervalue these means of spiritual light and
help. Nevertheless, I repeat, it is only in the Sermon  oil  the Mount that the Great Teacher undertakes to give a full and connected statement of
what is required of all.  His discourses and conversations on other occasions were necessarily brief
or fragmentary; or they had special reference to
some exigency of his immediate disciples; or they
looked rather to the growth of the religion, than
to the life of individuals. And what shall I say
of our Lord's personal life, as set forth by the
Evangelists? As a manifestation of the Divine in
the human, as an independent proof that he came
from God, more effective on some minds than any
other, as a sublime and inspiring impersonation of
a perfect moral beauty and holiness, never entirely
403 
404    THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT.
lost sight of by the Church, however imperfectly
understood, its value and importance never have
been and never can be overstated. But when you
and I proceed to apply this great life to our small
concerns, to our ordinary and daily duties, we see
at once that we are not expected to do the same
things, but only to act from the same principles
and dispositions. What these principles and dispositions are, those who can enter entirely into the
spirit and significance of our Lord's outward life
can gather from that, because they can see the
principles  and  dispositions  which  underlie  it;
others must gather them, at least in the first
instance, from his teachings.  What we need to
know most of all is, not our Lord's outward life
as given in history, but his inward life, the sources,
the springs of his goodness; and these are nowhere
set forth so plainly and distinctly as in the Sermon
on the MIount, and especially in the Beatitudes, with
which it opens.
Obviously, therefore, we must go to this discourse, first of all and above all, if we would know
what constitutes a Christian in the highest and
best sense of that word. At the same time, in thus
defining what I conceive to be the special purpose
and use of the Sermon on the Mount, I do not
mean to make it to be every thing, and the rest of
the Gospel nothing. There are other portions of 
THE SERMON ON THE fMOUNT.
the New Testament, equally important and necessary, and perhaps more so, though for other purposes and uses; and to these we must go for the
history of Christianity, and for many of its evidences, and motives, and sanctions. Take away
the rest of the Gospel, and it is hardly to be supposed that much regard would be paid to the Sermon on the Mount. Still it is none the less true,
that this Sermon contains the original and authentic statement, from the lips of our Lord himself, of
what is peculiar and distinctive in the Christian
character,- the Christian ideal of goodness; not
merely how good men differ from bad men, but
how  the good Christian  differs from the good
pagan, or the good Jew, or the good deist. Here,
more distinctly and authoritatively than anywhere
else, is set forth that peculiar type or style of holiness by which the real Christian is known.
The practical consequences to be deduced from
this position are of great moment.
Experience has shown that the attempt to found
a right to the Christian name on doctrinal unity is
an idle dream. I do not mean that one theology is
as good as another; for this would be to forget that
we have intellectual as well as moral wants. As
science and civilization advance, and education
becomes more and more general, it is of the utmost
importance that the doctrines of Christianity should
405 
406   THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT.
appear to be in harmony with men's ideas on other
subjects; otherwise a general defection from the
popular faith, either open or secret, may be expected. But this I say, let a man think as he
will as regards mere doctrine; if it does not hinder him from acting out in his daily life the ideas
contained in the Sermon on the Mount, it will not
hinder him from being a Christianl in the highest
and best sense of that term.
A similar remark is applicable to ecclesiastical
distinctions and ordinances. To pretend that there
can be no salvation out of this or that church is
the extreme of arrogance and presumption. Of
course there must be some order of worship, and
it is natural that men who think alike should waorship together. Nay, more; as men are differently
constituted, and have different receptivities, one
church may be best for one person, and another for
another.  "One man," says the Apostle, "esteemethl one day above another: another esteemeth
every day alike. Let every man be fully persuaded in his own mind." Observe, however, the
condition: every one must be "fully persuaded in
his own mind;" in other words, he must really
believe what he professes to believe. And the
reason is obvious.  No  professions,  no rites, no
observances are likely to be of much avail with
one who does not really regard them as of Divine 
THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT.
appointment; and, besides, it is really to corrupt
our whole moral life at its heart's core, if, in our
most solemn intercourse with God, we substitute,
for an enlightened and honest belief, a shallow and
fashional)le make-belief. Be this, however, as it
may, what I would now impress upon you is, that
no church, no outward and visible church, can be
of any service to you or me as Christians, except
in so far as it helps us to live the Sermon on the
Mount; that is, to act out, in all our relations to
ourselves, to society, and to God, the ideas contained therein.
Yes, to be Christians indeed, we must bring our
whole lives, inwardly and outwardly, ilnto conformity with "the pattern shown us in the
Mount."   And here it is to no purpose to say
that this is more than  any man  can do.   No
man can do it perfectly; but the only legitimate
inference firom this is, not that he cannot be a
Christian in this way, but that he cannot be a perfect Christian in this way or in any other. It does
not follow that a man cannot be a Christian, because hle cannot be a perfect Christian, any more
than it follows that a man cannot be a friend or
patrot, because he cannot be a perfect friend or
patriot. A man can be a Christian according to
his measure and degree; but he can be so on the
sole condition of living up to the Sermon on the
Mount according to his measure and degree. And
407 
408   THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT.
this is not all. If we sincerely and earnestly strive
to live utip to this divine rule in all respects, it will
show that we have at least a perfect faith, meaning thereby a perfect spirit of faithfulness, and this
faith may be counted for righteousness. That is
to say, in the next world wie may be rewarded according to what we sincerely and earnestly strove
to be and do, - the will as it came firom the heart,
and was only baffled by the essential infirmities of
our nature, being taken for the deed.
Our Lord has not left it for others to tell us
whether we are Christians or not; he has told us
himnself.  Can you suppose, therefore, that, in the
long discourse in which he has done this, he is to
be looked upon as speaking into the air, as laying
down a standard and criterion which is above our
reach, or vwhichl we cannot apply?  Remember the
words with which it closes: " Therefore whosoever
heareth these sayings of mine, and doeth them, I
will liken him unto a wise man who built his house
on a rockl; and the rain descended, and the floods
came, and the winds blew, and beat upon  that
house; and it fell not, for it was founded on a
rock. And every one that heareth these sayings
of mine, and doeth them not, shall be likened unto
a foolish man who built his house upon the sand;
and the rain descellded, and the floods came, and
the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it
fell, and great was the fall of it!"          1860. 
THE POWER OF CHRIST'S RESURRECTION. 409
XXIV.
THE POWER OF CHRIST'S RESURRECTION.
"That I may know himn, and the power of his resurrection."- PHIL
LIPPIANS iii. 10.
HE corner-stone of Christianity, considered as
an historical religion, is Christ's resurrection.
A circumstantial narrative of the fact is given by
each of the four Evangelists. It is also again and
again referred to, reaffirnmed, and dwelt upon by
the Apostles, as a cardinal point in the new faith.
"Jesus, and the resurrection," to "know him and
the power of his resurrection," is the sum and substance of their doctrine.
I am not going to renew an examination of the
witnesses to the great historical event here alluded
to. I am not going to take up the question of a
future life, as if it were still an open question with
Christians, for it is not; nor yet to go behind Christianity, with a view to establish the antecedent
veraciousness and probability of such a life. All
these subjects are well enough in their place; but
18 
THE POWER OF
they do not reach, as it seems to me, the main diffi culty; or rather, perhaps I ought to say, they do
not meet or supply  the  main deficiency.   The
main deficiency is not that of a speculative, but
of a practical, faith.  In a Christian community
like ours, most persons are ready enough to assent,
at least in words,-to the doctrine of Christ's resurrectioii, and of the general resurrection; but how
few know and feel its "power" as they mnight and
ought!
Some have even gone so far as to maintain
that, if the doctrine of a future life were to be
struck out of being, it would produce no sensible
change in the conduclet of mankind. If this statemnent were confined to a merely speculative faith
in the doctrine, and to its direct effect on human
conduct, it would not be far from the truth.  The
reason is that men's actions are not determined and
governed, at least not necessarily and immediately,
by their speculations; but by example, by habit, by
constitutional propensity. It is so in every thing.
Because a man's opinions are right, it does not follow that his dispositions are right, or that his
conduct will be right. Moreover, it is a mistake
*to suppose that, in order to convert a speculative
faith into a practical faith, nothing else is required
but more evidence; that the difference between
them is one of degree only.  They differ essen
410 
CHRIST'S RESURRECTION.
tially. The former denotes a state of the understanding, the latter a state of the affections and
the will; one we think, the other we live.
What we want is, not merely to see the truth
of the doctrine of immortality, but to know and
feel its " power."  What we want is, habitually
to recognize the reality of the spiritual world and
a future life, in the same sense and in the same
way in which we habitually recognize the reality
of the sensible world and the present life.
Let no one say that this supposes either an impossible or a mystical state of mind. An impossible
state of mind! We know it to have been actually
attained by multitudes of men and women ill different ages and countries,-not merely by Christians,
but even by Jews and pagans and Mahometans.  I
do not mean that such persons think of nothing else
but another life; this would be to neglect their nearest and most imperative relations and duties. But
when there is occasion for it, the thought of another
life cones in; and then, not as of something that
may be, but as of something that really is. In times
of great public anxiety and distress, or of domestic
sorrow, or of private disappointment and suffering,
their hope is not in manl, but in God. Death itself
cannot scare or unsettle this hope.   How many
confessors have stood up for the truth against the
world, without a touch of fear!  How many mar
411 
THE POWER OF
tyrs have been burnt at the stake with songs of
triumph on their lips! Knowing that God and
eternity were on their side, they did not care who
or what was on the other side.  To such men, the
visible heavens in which the stars shine are not
more real, than the invisible heavens in which God
reig,ns.
Equally unfounded is the notion that the state of
mind here recommended is mystical or inexplicable, or ill any sense extravagant or unreasonable.
If we are Christians, or even deists, we must
be presumed to accept, in some form or other,
the doctrine of a life to come. Look at the monuments, read the inscriptions, in any of your cemeteries: all speak of a life to come. It is the generally received faith. Not one in a thousand buries a child, or a parent, or a dear and venerated
friend, with the sad and forlorn impression that
he is no more for ever. Some may never have
thought much on the subject; others may have
great difficulties about it; with some, faith in
immortality may be little more than a tradition;
with others, little more than a feeling: yet, shadowy and imperfect as the hope is, the offer of all
t*e "kingdoms of the world, and the glory of
them," would not tempt them to let it go. Under
such circumstances, the wonder, the great practical
nmystery, is not, I insist, that "the power" of this
412 
CERIST'S RESURRECTION.
faith should be felt by so many, but that it should
be felt by so few.  What more does it suppose or
require, but that we should act out our professions,
live as we believe, do as we say?  And is this
mysticism? Is it not the very soul of practical
consistency and good sense?
The radical error on this subject consists, as it
seems to me, in not recognizing the part which
rightfully belongs to the will in matters of practical conviction.  We must make a distinction between speculative questions, where the end is
opinion, and practical questions, where the end
is action.  In the latter case, to be for ever deliberating is to forget that it is a practical question. Of course, the will has nothing to do in
determining the preponderance of evidence, as
evidence; but it has a great deal to do in determining when, on the strength of this preponderance, we shall begin to act.  Here, more perhaps
than anywhere else, an irresolute will and a corresponding feebleness of character betray themselves,- not in one thing only, but in every thing.
The young man who consumes the best part of
his life in making up his mind as to what he
ought to do, and even then makes it up hesitatingly and with reserves, is not likely to do much.
What makes the great statesman, the great military commander, the great man of business, but
413 
THE POWER OF
this very thing, -that he knows how  long  to
deliberate, and when to strike?
And so ill religion. I do not mean that there
is no occasion here for inquiry and judgment, that
there is no distinction between a blind and super stitious worship or service, and an intelligent and
rational worship or service.  But this I say: there
is no proper worship or service of any sort, until it
takes a practical form. The turning point in every
man's religious experience is, not when he says "I
believe," but when he says "I will."
A man is not a Christian in proportion to the
amount of truth he puts into his creed, but in proportion to the amount of truth he puts into his life.
Accordingly, the great question respecting the doctrine of immortality is, not whether we believe it,
but whether we live it. Are we prepared to say,
"Discussion has done its work.  The evidence for
a future state is sufficient for all practical purposes.
I will no longer look upon it as a matter in debate,
but as a settled point.  It shall take its place in all
my views and plans of life as a reality, throwing its
light on all other realities, and requiring that they
should be adjusted to it, and judged by it"? Are
you prepared to do this? Are you prepared to
say, "I will "?  If so, "old things are passed away;
behold, all things are become  new."   You  are
in a condition, not merely to recognize the truth
414 
CHRIST'S RESURRECTION.
and importance of an immortal hope, but also to
feel its " power."
With this sense, - I do not say with this profession or this belief, but with this sense of immortality oni our minds, what will follow?
In the first place, it will help to reconcile us to
the inequalities and incongruities of this world.
Considered but as the opening scene of aIn endless
career, it is easy to conceive that all will come
out.rigiht at last.  "What I do, thou knowest not
now, but thou shalt know hereafter." A life of
fewer troubles and difficulties and temptations
might be less fitted to accomplish the end for
which this life was given; it certainly would be
less fitted to call out and educate and strengthen
personal character. Even the greatest perplexity
of all,- difference of moral and religious privilege,
- yields to this explanation. How common it is
for the men who struggled against the greatest disadvantages in the outset, gaining little by little, to
succeed best in the end! The reason is, that these
very disadvantages, though a hindrance to progress
in the beginning, are the best school for developing,
a man's latent energies; that is to say, his power to
mnae further progress.   Thus a compensation is
provided,- less progress, perhaps, up to a given
time, but more power for the time to come; and
when we consider that the time is infinite, we
415 
THE POWER OF
see it to be compensation which can never fail the
deserving.
Again; a proper sense of immortality will not
only reconcile us to life, whatever it may be, but
also to death, whenever it may come.
If a maii thinks at all on the subject, his mind
must l)e in hopeless perplexity until he has formed
a clear, or at least a practical, conception of the
leading purpose and end for which he is placed in
this world by Divine Providence. If we are to live
again, the life that now is must have some con nection with that which is to come; our present
state has some bearing on our future state: other wise, our present existence is a mere excrescence,
unconnected with the rest of our being, absolutely
without meaning or object, -not even a first step,
as it is all to go for nothing, and we are to begin
anew. But what is this connection? What is this
bearing? These questions, of such vital moment
to a seeker after truth and happiness, are suffi ciently answered, as it seems to me, by saying that
the Creator has placed us in this world, under the
existing constitution of things, with a view to such
an excitement and development of our moral and
spiritual nature as will qualify us for action and
enjoyment in another world, under a different constitution of things.
Thus is it with our education on earth. This is
416 
CHRrST'S RESURRECTION.
not begun and completed in one place.  And why?
Because it is not found to be practicable to teach
every thing in one school; but, beginning with the
lowest or primary school, we make a certain degree
of proficiency there; and then, quitting that school,
we go up to a higher, and so on to the highest.  Let
us not speak disparagingly, much less contemptuously, even of the lowest school, or of the lowest
form in the lowest school; for all must begin there.
.One school is as indispensable as another to the
final result, and should be looked back upon with
respect and gratitude.  Nevertheless, it would be
preposterous, as all must perceive, for any one to
say that he will never quit the lowest school, that
he will complete his education there. He cannot
do it; he can only begin his education there.  And
so with the moral and spiritual training of the immortal soul. It has not been found practicable for
our nature to attain its full and perfect development in one place, under one constitution of
thlings, under one set of influences. Hence we
are placed here in order to receive our first discipline, to put forth our first efforts, to learn our
firist lessons, and so to make a beginning. Still,
all we can do here, at the best, is merely to make
a beginning.
Many, I fear, look upon death as if it would put
a period to our progress; but in point of fact it is
18*                AA
417 
THE POWER OF
intended to prevent a period being put to our
progress. This life is one step in our being, and
but one step; we die that we may take another
step. We go as far as we can go in this world;
we die that we may go farther, that we may go
on to perfection. You would not wonder to hear
a child say, "I would not be a child alvways."  And
why not? Because you think it natural and reasonable for the child to wish that, as he is prepared
for it, he may be admitted to a wider sphere of
duty, activity, and  enjoyment.   But is it not
equally natural and reasonable for a man to wish
that, as he is prepared for it, he also may be admitted to a still higher sphere of duty, activity,
and enjoyment? If the child would not stop with
being a child, but hopes to become something more
and better, why should not man be unwilling to
stop with being a mortal man, but hope to become something more and better? I repeat it, we
do not die that we may stop; we die, that we may
go on.
Moreover, a living and practical faith in immortality will help to reconcile us to death, come when
it may; - that is, to an early death, or to waiting
for it in extreme old age.
We can understand that men must die, for so
it is decreed in their very organization, - as the
leaves fall in autumn; but the leaves do not fall
418 
CIIRIST'S RESURRECTION.
in spring. It has ever been accounted one of the
darkest  and  most  painful  mysteries in Divine
Providence, that so many, in the flush of health
and spirits, full of promise, with their work but
just begun, and knit by a thousand ties to loving
hearts, should be suddenly cut off, while the old
and infirm and worn out still linger on, often
against their will. Perhaps the best answer to
this difficulty is found in our incomipetency to
fathom the Divine counsels. But though we cannot understand particular cases, it is not difficult
to see that the general law under which they take
place is wise and good.
Consider, for a moment, what would follow if
childhood, and youth, and early manhood  were
exempt from mortality; if, for example, nobody
died until he was sixty.  Is it not as certain as
it is that man is man, that the early part of life
would be given, by the great majority, to thoughtlessness and present indulgence, or to extreme
worldliness; and that all earnest self-culture, and
all serious preparation for eternity, would be postponed to near the close of the period on which
they could certainly calculate? Who has yet to
learn that most persons are extremely indisposed to
act, and that many seem wholly incapable of acting,
earnestly and decidedly for a remote object?  God,
therefore, by- making us liable to death from the
419 
THE PO WER OF
moment we begin to breathe, and by making us
feel that death is continually impending over us,
has wisely and mercifully so arranged it as to make
our mortality an ever-present mnotive or restraint.
Hence the secret of the amazing power exerted
over mankind by the thought of death; which
does more, as I firmly believe, to keep alive a
spirit of religion in the world, and, throoughl that,
a spirit of virtue and order, than all other causes
put together. There are doubtless higher princi ples than this, and men who can enter into the
spirit of these higher principles; nevertheless, take
away from the bulk of mankind the motives and
restraints to be found in the mysterious overhanging of death, and I do not believe that society
could be held together. And the power of this
thought, let me remind you, is not found in the
final certainty of death, but in the certainty that
it may come at any moment.
And besides, why say of those who die early,
that they die prematurely, their destiny interrupted and broken off?  We  never shall think
justly, rationally, consistently of death, until we
come to look upon it, not theoretically alone, but
practically, as being neither more nor less than
a change of abode for the immortal spirit. Putting away all the illusions of the senses and the
imagination onI this subject, and giving ourselves
420 
CHRIST'S RESURRECTION.
up to the impressions and convictions of our better
nature, illuminated and confirmed as they are by
the Word and the Spirit of God, we must come to
regard death in no other light than as a transition
from one mode of existence to another. To be
Christians indeed, we must habitually feel and act
under a deep and abiding assurance that what we
call death is not the extinction of a single particle
of real life; but only the separation from life of all
that is mortal, that nothing but life may remain.
What we call death takes place, and "mortality is
swallowed up of life."  The dead, then, are not
dead. Our friends, who are absent from the body,
are present with the Lord.   They are not here,
but they are there; they live, - fully to carry out,
under more favorable circumstances, every purpose
for which they were created.
Is it not a presentiment of this which makes the
death-bed of the young, as a general rule, so much
more bright and hopeful than that of the old?
Death itself would wear a harder and more repulsive look to us all, if we did not so frequently see
it reflected back upon us from the placid and
beautiful faces of those whom the world has never
to-Lched with its sorrows or its cares.
And what shall I say of old age? Very far is it
from being barren of uses and satisfactions. In the
primitive ages, when wisdom was found in personal
421 
THE POWER OF
experience, and not in traditions or in books, the
old were looked up to for counsel or authority more
than now. Even now, however, there is a beautiful and touching reverence everywhere paid to men
remarkable for their virtues and their years.  But
there is one great drawback: so far as this world
is concerned, old men must live in their recollections, and not in their hopes.  Cicero has been
complimented for the ingenious turn he has given
to this objection.  "An  old man," he says, "has
nothing indeed to hope for; yet he is in so much
the happier state than a young man, since he has
already attained what the other only hopes for."
But this will hardly satisfy.  That we have lived
to some purpose should reconcile us to having
lived, but it has nothing to do with our continuing to, live. I can think of nothing more dreary
than to be waiting for death, without having that
death lighted up and transfigured by an unshaken
trust in another life.
There is no ignoring, there is no concealing the
inconveniences, the infirmities, which steal over us
as we descend into the vale of years. What is to
give peace, contentment, and dignity to the evening of our days?  It is a great thing, for an old
man to retain his faculties and his natural cheerfillness to the last. It is a great thing, to keep up
his interest in good objects, and in his favorite
422 
CHRIST'S RESURRECTION.
studies and pursuits. It is a great thing, to be
surrounded by kind friends, and all the endearments and appliances of a happy home.   But
greater than aill, "to know Christ, and the power
of his resurrection," -as a hope full of immortality. With this hope, he still has something to
live for, and something to die for. This world and
all it contains are fading away; but his eyes are
fixed on "a better country, that is, a heavenly,"
-" a city which hath foundations, whose builder
and maker is God."
1861.
423
a 
OUR DUTY IN RESPECT TO
XXV.
OUR DUTY IN RESPECT TO OTHER MEN'S
CONSCIENCES.
"Conscience, I say, - not thine own, but of the other."- 1  CoRIN                   THIANS, X. 29.
F there were but one conscience in the world,
and that were mine, my course would be plain
and straightforward, so far, at least, as conscience
is concerned. I should only have to settle it in my
own mind what is right, and that would be right;
-right for me, and right for everybody. Other
men, not having any consciences of their own, if
they wished to act conscientiously, would have to
regulate their conduct by my opinion of right.
They would have to look at me, and do as they see
me do. Men's consciences have sometimes been
called their watches; each one consults his own:
but in the circumstances here supposed, my con* science would be more than that; it would be the
Town Clock.
But in point of fact it is far otherwise. There
are as many consciences as there are individuals;
424 
OTHER MEN'S CONSCIENCES.
and what makes it worse is, that these consciences,
to all appearance, are not agreed. They do not
always lead the same way; they often lead different, and sometimes opposite, ways, even in matters
of public interest and duty.  Your conscience says,
this ought to be done; my conscience says, that
ought to be done; and, in such cases, what shall be
done? Shall your conscience give way to mine?
Or mine to yours? Or shall both give way, some
compromise being adopted? Or shall neither give
way voluntarily, - the question, What is right?
being left to turn on the question, Which is the
stronger?
Naturalists tell us of animals which cannot be
turned from their course; so that, when two chance
to meet, each begins to raise himself on his legs as
high as possible, and the one which can raise himself the highest, travels directly over the other's
head.  Something like this not unfrequently takes
place among men, when they come into collision
with one another on the ground of contested right.
The two parties meet, but instead of making room
for each other on terms of mutual concession and
respect, they follow the example of the animals referfed to above.  Taking their stand on what they
call conscience, they immediately begin to stretch
themselves up as high as possible; and that party
which can make itself the superior in prestige or
425
lli.Ii 
OUR DUTY IN RESPECT TO
influence, or popular clamor, travels directly over
the other's head.
As might be presumed from what is known of
the overbearing and despotic propensities of human
nature, this evil has always existed to a greater or
less degree; and many things at the present day,
though in themselves good, tend to increase it.  I
allude here especially to the progress and diffusion
of knowledge and civil and religious liberty. In
proportion as men become enlightened and free,
each man's individual judgment stands for more,
and, at the same time, mere tradition, mnere authori ty, and, I may add, mere law, stand for less.  Un der these circumstances, a man of an arbitrary and
despotic turin  of mind is more likely than ever to
set up his ownI conscience, or that of his party or
clique, as the standard of right, other men's con sciences to the contrary notwithstanding.
Hence the growing importance, in a practical
point of view, of looking into this whole subject a
little more carefully. What is due to the plea of
conscience, -" conscience, I say, not thine own,
but of the other"? What is our duty as Chris tians in respect to other men's consciences, espe cially when from any cause they happen to be at
variance, and perhaps in conflict, with our own and
the public conscience?
We are first to ascertain whether the plea of
426 
OTHER MEN'S CONSCIENCES.
conscience is well-founded. There is more room
for this question than is commonly supposed. All
is not conscience that passes for it in this world.
And here I do not refer wholly, or mainly, to deliberate hypocrisy, to false appearances, to men pretending to be what they are not.  Undoubtedly
there is not a little even of this; undoubtedly
there is not a little of hollow pretence in modern
society, and we naturally look for it among those
who pretend to the most.   When  a man lays
claim to a great deal of conscience in one matter,
and yet shows only a common degree of conscience
in other matters, we have a right to suspect him.
Be that, however, as it may, what I would
chiefly insist upon here is, that men are continually mistaking what constitutes conscience. Let
it be that a man is both sincere and consistent, it
does not necessarily follow that he is conscientious
in any proper sense of that word. Nay, more, he
may be devoted to a particular measure, or system,
or party, and be ready to make great sacrifices for
it, and even to die for it, and yet not for conscience' sake. It may be, undoubtedly it often is,
pride of opinion, or mere persistency or obstinacy
of character.  There are multitudes with whom a
stiff adherence to ground once taken has very little
to do with morality; it has a great deal more to
do with temper.  We have had more than enough
427 
OUR DUTY IN RESPECT TO
of this determination, on the part of headstrong
men, to act out their purposes under the name of
conscience, though the heavens fall. It is a mis  take to suppose that such a disposition argues, of
itself, extraordinary conscientiousness; much oft  ener it originates in extraordinary self-confidence
and presumption, and a determination to have one's
owvn wahy.  Extraordinary conscientiousness always
supposes an extreme anxiety to be right, as well as
to do right; and whlerever this anxiety exists, it
must certainly induce some degree of caution,
hesitancy, self-distrust.  The zealot, therefore, who
rushes on, manifesting inone of this caution, none
of this hesitancy and self-distrust, may be a maii
of courage and daring; he may count his life as a
very small thing compared with the objects he has
in view; he may strike hard and strike home: but
it is a palpable mistake to single him out as illus  trating the power of conscience.  InI nine eases out
of ten, it is the power of will.
Let us now take another step.  Assuming that
the plea of conscience is well-founded, assuming
a man really to act from a sense of right, what
value or authority does this circumstance alone give
3 to his opinion of right?
Some persons, I believe, are not a little puzzled
in making it out, how two disputants can be
equally conscientious, though on opposite sides of
428' 
OTHER MEN'S CONSCIENCES.
the question as to what ought to be done in a particular case.  But it is because they do not begin
by clearing up their conception of conscience itself.
Conscience, properly so called, belong(rs to our emotional, and not to our intellectual, nature. It is a
sensibility and not a judgment; it is a feeling that
we ought to do right, leaving us, however, to make
up our opinion as to what is right in particular
cases, as we make up our opinion on other subjects, and with the same liability to difference,
change, and mistake. Accordingly, though we
come to widely different conclusions as to what
ought to be done in particular cases, it does not
follow that we differ at all in our love of right, or
in our sense of moral obligation; that is tpo say, in
conscience, properly so called. In other words, it
is not conscience against conscience, but merely
opinion against opinion; and, what is more, one
fallible opinion against another fallible opinion.
Keeping in niind the distinction here pointed
out, it is easy to see the only ground oni which
any man can claim respect for his opinion of right
in difficult matters.  It is not that he is more conscientious, but that he is more intelligent, and
mnore intelligent in respect to the particular question at issue. In a great majority of cases, the
right is so obvious and patent as to raise no question, the only thing which keeps men from doing
429 
OUR DUTY IN RESPECT TO
it being a want of conscience. The continual re  currence of such instances has probably led to the
mistake, that conscience alone is all-sufficient, in  formiing us what to do, as well as commanding us
to do it.  But the moment we are in serious doubt
as to what ought to be done, the conviction is
forced upon us that no degree of mere conscien  tiousness will supply the place of study, experi  ence, and a sound mind.  Hence it often happens
that we entertain a sincere respect for a man's
sense of right, but no sort of respect for his opin  ion of right. If it is a question of statesmanship,
he must know statesmanship; if it is a question of
law, he must know law; if it is a question of com  mercial ot social or moral reform, he must be
versed in all the difficulties and intricacies and
entanglements of these subjects: else, no matter
how conscientious he may be, his opinion of right
is not worth a straw.
Here, however, another question arises. What
is to be dclone with a man who conscientiously holds
"opinions of right " deemed not only worthless,
but injurious, and perhaps fatally so? Some per sons of a speculative vein, not at all inclined to be
- persecutors themselves, insist nevertheless that the
logic of persecution is irrefi'agable. If the Church
really believes that an obnoxious heresy is fatal to
morals and religion, how can the toleration of it
430 
OTHER MEN'S CONSCIENCES.
be reconciled with notions of public duty, or even
with compassion for the infected individuals?
Under the name of sanitary or quarantine regulations, we enact stringent laws, and inflict heavy
penalties, in order to prevent the spread of a contagion which threatens to kill the body. On the
same principle, and from a similar though much
higher motive, ought we not to do at least as
much to prevent tl-he spread of a contagion which
threatens to kill the soul?
I answer, that for any man, or any body of men,
large or small, laic or cleric, to lay down their opinions, however honestly entertained, as an ultimate
standard of truth, is to forget that they are fallible
beings. It is practically to assume that they are
iqfallible, when they know they are not.  In other
words, it begins by assuming as true what they
know to be false; and if so, then every form of
despotism in matters of faith, every form of spiritual domination, must be acknowledged to have
its root in a manifest contradiction and lie. Perhaps some will argue, that what I think to be true
is the truth for me, at least for the time being.
And this in a certain sense, and with certain
limitations, must be conceded. Mark, however,
the words, -the  truth for me.  Because  it is
the truth for me, it does not follow that it is the
truth for my neighbor; - certainly not, if he
4I1 
OUR DUTY IN RESPECT TO
happens to think differently. On the contrary, if
there is any force in the argument here insisted
on,- that is to say, if what I think to be true is
the truth for me, then it would seem to follow, that
what my neighbor thinks to be true is in the same
sense, and to the same extent, the truth for hint;
so that we find here a ground, not for punishingT or
restraining dissent, but for universal toleration.
The Church of Rome, aware of this objection,
thinks to save her consistency by professing to
build nothing on opinion against opinion, nor even
on accord of mere human opinion, untrustworthy at
the best, especially as regards "the things of God."
She claims absolute infallibility in matters of faith;
but it is on the ground of a Divine inspiration per  petually renewed.  And this wotulid be very well,
except for one circumstance.  The inspiration thus
confidently asserted, by which I mean the fact of
the inspiration, must be proved; and here there is
nothing but opinion against opinion, and, what is
more, nothing but one human and fallible opinion
against another human and fallible opinion: for,
of course, it will not do to plead the inspiration,
while the very question at issue is whether  there
* really is any inspiration or not.  Obviously, there  fore, the boasted consistency of Romanism resolves
itself, for the most part, into a trick of logical
sleight-of-hand.  It consists in so shuffling out of
432 
OTHER MEN'S CONSCIENCES.
sight the question of the fact of the inspiration,
that what is manifestly the previous and main
question, indeed the question of questions, is made
to seem as if it were no question at all, in short,
as if it were something which everybody is to begin
by taking for granted.
I come, therefore, to the conclusion that the
fundamental doctrine of consistent Protestantism,
entire freedom of thought, remains untouched. So
much at least is due to conscience; "conscience, I
say, not thine own, but of the other." We may
feel little or no respect for another man's opinions
of right, but we must nevertheless respect his right
to the opinions, at any rate until he begins to act
them out.
I have said, "until he begins to act them out,"which brings up another question of greater difficullty and perplexity. What shall be done with a
man, who, in acting out his honest convictions of
duty, comes into conflict with law?
Exciting and embarrassing  as this subject is
under some of its aspects, there are two or three
things respecting it, which are sufficiently plain.
In the first place, law, to be law, must be taken as
an expression, not of arbitrary will, but of the public opinion of right, of the public conscience as at
present instructed. When, therefore, we consider
and pay a proper respect and deference to law,
433
19
BB 
O UR DUTY IN RESPECT TO
it is not to forsake conscience and follow another
guide.  We  still follow conscience, and not the
less conscience because it is the collective con  science of the community.  But am  I not called
upon to give up my own conscience in favor of
this so-called public conscience?  No such thing.
I am not even so much as called upon to give up
my own opinion of right, when it differs from that
expressed in the law. All that I am called upon
to do is to refrain from acting it out; and this too,
as a general rule, and in ordinary times, no farther
than my own conscience, in view of my duty as a
good citizen, prompts and requires.
Again, the law restrains the fanatic from acting
out new, dangerous, incendiary doctrines, or pun  ishes him for it, not with a view to invade his
rights, but to hinder him from invading the rights
of others. So long as his conduct injures nobody
but himself, it is seldom, if ever, that the law inter  feres; but as soon as it begins to injure others, it is
preposterous to suppose that they will bear it, or
that society will suffer it. Society, government,
the State, is, and must be, of the nature of a com  promise; each one giving up a part of his natural
3 liberty of action, that he may retain and be pro  tected in the rest. And this is not a mere human
contrivance, but the will and decree of God; for
God has evidently made us to live in society, and
434
i 
OTHER MEN'S CONSCIENCES.
society cannot exist without it. Now we say, that
to be continually playing fast and loose in this matter, to give it up to-day and take it back to-morrow, is not conscience; it is not even rational
liberty; it is a breach of contract; it is sheer injustice and wvrong.  Room is still left for the true
martyr. All honiior to the true martyr; but the
true martyr is one who suffers himself for his opinions,- not one who makes other men suffer.
And besides, nobody will pretend that conscientiousitess is the whole of goodness; we are to take
into view a man's tastes and dispositions in other
respects. The radical error and vice of every form
of fanaticism consists in practically disregarding
this obvious fact; in presuming that mere conscientiousness, mere fidelity to one's opinions, will
make up for the lack of any other and every other
needed grace. St. Paul was of a different mind.
In looking back on the exterminating zeal with
which, while a mere stripling, he had  hunited
down  the Christians, he saw at once that there
was nothing in the circumstance of his being selfdeceived, nothing in the plea of the honesty of his
convictions, to justify or excuse his self-confidence,
his'arrogance, his preeipitaney, his cruelty. He
knew that these qualities of character are always
bad, however connected; that they are as bad in
conscientious men as in uneonseientious men, and
ought to be restrained.
435 
OUR DUTY IN RESPECT TO
Undoubtedly, under every human  government
there are bad laws; undoubtedly, there is a higher
law; but it is a nmourlnful, not to say a shameful,
thing, if the so-called " higher law " represents the
ignorance and the passions of the community, and
not its intelligence and sober judgment. So long
as the world stands in need of agitators and reforiners, there will be occasion from time to time
for bold and daring spirits, who are for compiromising nothing, who are for carrying out their new
theories, come what may. When such men appear, there is a touch of heroism about them,
which fascinates like military glory, and causes
them to be lauded much above their deserts. Be
this, however, as it may, thus much is plain: they
are exceptional men alike in their office and their
virtues, and, when out of place, become  a social
pest.
One word, in conclusion, on what is due to the
scruples of those who are offended and hurt by our
freedom, - the scruples, as the Scriptures express
it, of the "weak" brethren.
Of course, the spirit of concession in such cases
must have its limits; otherwise the "weak" brethren would virtually rule. And again, it must not
be claimed on the ground of absolute right, but on
that of Christian tenderness and solicitude for the
good, and especially for the moral good, of others.
436 
OTHER MEN'S CONSCIENCES.
Thus qualified and explained, it seems to me that
a constant anxiety lest our own example, however
justifiable in itself, may have the effect to lead
astray the inexperienced and weak, is the natural
growth of the Christian consciousness, and indeed
the spontaneous act of every truly generous mind.
In the words of the apostle, "All things are lawful
for me, but all things are not expedient: all things
are lawful for me, but all things edify not."
I know it is an old objection,  "Why  is my
liberty judged  of another  man's  conscience?"
Why am  I called upon to give  up rights and
privileges, or even lawful and reasonable indulgences, merely to  humor  the  scruples  of the
weak-minded?   But this is not stating the case
fairly.   We  have  many rights which,  however,
we have a right to waive; nay, more, rilghts which
under certain circumstances we feel that we ought
to waive, and do waive.  Neither is it any infringement of our liberty.  Grant that I am at full liberty to partake of this or that indulgence on the
ground of its innocence and reasonableness; it
must also be conceded, on -the other hand, that I
am at liberty not to partake of it. I am at liberty
to partake of it or not, as I please; and if from
any reason or motive I please not to partake of it,
this is just as much a vindication and exercise of
my liberty as if I were to indulge myself without
437 
OUR DUTY IN RESPECT TO
restraint.  And why talk about being called upon
to do this merely to humor the scruples of the
weak-minded?  We are not called upon to do it
merely to humor the scruples of aniiybody. We
are called upon to do it, that we may not unneces sarily offend or disturb another man's faith, or hurt
his conscience, or make him weak, or lead him into
temptation, thus putting an occasion to fall in a
biother's way.  Now I ask any one, and every one
who professes to act on Christian principles, or in deed to have the feelings of a mani, whether this
is not reason and motive enough for practising a
little self-restraint?
After all, however, there is a higher duty we
owve to the consciences of the weak and ignorant,
than that of consultilng their scruples; I mean the
duty of enlightening and strengthening their consciences, and making them truly Christian.  Starting with the mistaken notion that conscience is a
light as well as a motive, many persons slide into
the error of supposing that coniscience alone is a
sufficient guide; that every one knows what is required of him, whether he praetises it or not. It
is far otherwise.  Very probably.thle bulk of mankind know what is required of them in order to
stand well with their neighbors, or to maintain
credit in business, or to held up their heads in
what is called good society. But they do not
438
II
i 
OTHER MEN'S CONSCIENCES.
know  what is required of them in order to enter
into the Kingdom of Heaven; they do not know
the degree to which inwvard purity and the higher
virtues are insisted on in the New  Testament;
they do not even so much as know what constitutes the peculiar type and style of Christian
ri(ghteousness, by which it is distinguished fiom
the righteousness of the pagan or the Jew. It is
precisely here, therefore, as I conceive, that Christian instruction is most needed; -not that men
may  have  consciences, for they will have  consciences of some sort or other at any rate; but
that they may have Christian consciences.  The
great and essential peculiarity of the Gospel is
found, as it seems to me, not in its doctrine of
God, nor in its doctrine of ordinances, but in its
doctrine of holiness.  "For if ye love them which
love you, what reward have ye? Do not even the
putblicans the same?  And if ye salute your brethren only, what do ye more  than  others?   Do
not eveni the publicans so?  Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is
perfect."
1860.
439
a 
440 PERFECTIONr THE CHRISTIAN'S AIM.
XXVI.
PERFECTION THE CHRISTIAN'S AIM.
"Therefore, leaving the principles of the doctrine of  Christ, let us go on
untopewfection."-I IEBREWS  vi. 1.
OWiEVER unlikely or impossible it is that we
shall ever meet with a perfect man on this
earth, still, if we were to meet with one, we should
see, that, instead of being a monster, he would be
of all men the most entirely natural, the most truly
human.  It is no objection to this, that when we
see one yielding to a burst of inordiinate passion,
or carried away by excessive love of fame, or
money, or pleasure, we are apt to say, "See there
human nature,   poor human nature!"  And so
we do, in a certain sense of that word, and per haps in the most common sense; for the' propen sity in question is a human propensity, and in its
3 existing and disproportionate state of development
it is natural that a man should give way to it. It
is a development of our nature which makes the
miser or the volupt,uary, but not, I contend, a
i 
PERFECTION THE CHRISTIAN'S AIM. 441
natural development of our nature; and this is a
distinction which a discriminating thinker will be
careful to observe.  For there is a natural developmenit of our nature, and an unnatural development
of our nature. The miser and the voluptuary
becomie what they are in consequence of a developmnent of human  nature; but then it is in
consequence of an unnatural, one-sided, distorted
development of human nature.  If human nature
were developed naturally, that is to say, according to its just and intended order and proportions, there would be no misers or voluptuaries.
The misers and the voluptuaries, - they are the
monsters.
But if a perfect man would be so natural in all
his ways, if human perfection would be nothing
but a full and perfect development of human  nature in its just and natural order and proportions,
how happens it, some may ask, that we never meet
with some of these paragons,- one, at least, in a
nation, one in an age? Let me answer this question by bringing into view an analogous and familiatr fact. Go into a forest,-nay, go fromn forest to
forest, - and you cannot find a single perfect tree;
perfect, I mean, in every branch, in every leaf.
Yet such a tree would be only true to its nature,
- that is, perfectly natural. Most clearly, if such
a tree could be found, it would not be a monster.
19* 
442 PERFECTION THE CHRISTIAN'S AIM.
Perh-tps I shall be told that the impossibility of
actually findingr such a tree is owing to external
infliuences, -  to the soil, the fiost, the insects, the
mildewv.  And so it is. But so, too, it is with man.
His nature also, while in its course of development,
comes under countless influences from without of
a mnost diverse character aud tendency, some of
which begoin to operate before he is born, some
of which are wroughlt into his physical organiza tion, and some of which essentially modify his
education and the whole structure of his moral
and social being,.  Novow under such diverse and
conflicting influences we do not say that he will
become wholly bad or wholly good; but we do say
that the character he forms will be a mixed char acter; it will not be a perfect character. The
race growing up under such  circumstances will
not be divisible into the perfectly good and the
perfectly bad; but every individual will be partly
good and partly bad. Every man's character will
be, and must be, and is, mixed.
Accordingly Mr. Wesley has defined human per fection as being "such a degree of the love of God
and the love of man, such a degree of the love of
'justice, truth, holiness, and purity, as will remove
from the heart every contrary disposition towards
God or man; and that should be our state of mind
in every situation, in every circumstance of life."
i 
PERFECTION THE CHRISTIAN'S A.ll. 443
Even he, however, admits that this perfection, at
its greatest height, does not include absolute free   dom friom error or mistake, nor exclude the pos   sibility of continual progress in knowledge and
holiness.  We also find, that, as he grew older
and wiser, and saw more of the abuses to which
the doctrine of perfection is liable, he was more
and more disposed to modify it and soften it down;
until, in writing to one of his female disciples,
who seems to have applied for advice under a de   spondiug sense of her imperfection, he could say,
Indeed, my judgmnent is, that (ill this case par   ticularly) to overdo is to undo; and that to set
perfection too high is the most effectual way of
driving it out of the world."
Still, it is not to be denied that the advocates
even of a nominal and qualified perfectionism, like
this, have done not a little to suggest and foster
hurtful and dangerous errors.  In the first place,
they have led men to be content with inward(
states, - with an ideal and dreamy sort of good   ness; as if nothing more were required of us than
that our general intentions and affections should
be right; or as if, though our general intentions
and- affections are right, we may not sin in par   ticular acts, or in particular manifestations of feel   ing.   Again, they have given countenance  and
currency to false and extremely unsafe views of 
444 PERFECTION THE CHRISTIAN'S A1M.
temptation, by encouraging persons, who think
their hearts have been changed, to believe that
now they are in no danger; that now they may
expose themselves without fear to any form of
seduction, - as if we did not know that the best
men are liable to temptation, and liable to it the
more in the same proportion as they are thrown
off their guard by an overweening sense of their
superiority to it.  Worse  than all, perfectionism
is apt to degenerate into Antinomianism, perhaps
the most pestilent and stupendous of all the per versions of religion; which teaches the indifference
of outward conduct in thie regenerate, making even
injustice and sensuality to be no longer of the nat sire of sin, when committed by those who have once
been renewed by the grace of God.
We set aside, therefore, all expectation of actually meeting with perfection among  men; we
confidently believe that under Christianity, as
under Judaism, " there is not a just man  upon
earth, that doeth good and sinneth not."  Still
there is nothing to hinder us from maintaining,
as the Scriptures seem to do, the doctrine of human verfectibility.  Perfectibility, as here used,
differs from perfection in this, -that a man may
be pronounced perfectible though he never attains to perfection in fact, provided only that
there is nothing in his nature itself to exclude
i 
PERFECTION THE CHRISTIAN'S AIM. 445
the possibility of his perfection, and nothing in
his circumstances to exclude the possibility of his
continually going on towards perfection.
While, therefore, we give up human perfection,
we stand fast for human perfectibility.  There are
no  arbitrary or determinate  bounds set to any
man's progress in this life, whatever may be his
condition and  circumstances.   You  cannot say,
i' He can go so far, and there he must stop.  He
can go so far, and there he will meet a bar which
will make further progress impossible." There is
no such bar. The way is open to every one; or,
if not entirely open, there is nothing in the nature
of the obstructions which makes them absolutely
insuperable. I do not say that, in every instance,
a man can leap over these obstructions at an easy
or a single bound. Sometimes he will be able to
surmount them only by patience and toil; and
sometimes he will have to cut his way through
them with courage and force. All I affirm is, that
there is nothing in the nature of these obstructions, or of any other obstructions, which must
needs bring his self-improvement to a stand for
a day or an hour, so long as his faculties retain
the'r natural vigori. Even while struggling with
the difficulty in question, and before he has succeeded in mastering it, if he struggles manfully
and in a true spirit, he is continually growing 
446 PERFECTION THE CHRISTIAN'S AIM.
wiser and better and stronger in himself through
the newl demand thus made on his energies, and
the new exercise to which his faculties are thus
put.  I repeat it, then: no limit is fixed or can
be fixed to any man's progress, so long as his
faculties retain their natural vigor, except by his
own coInsent.  I do not say, simply, that man is
a progressive being, but also that he is a being
capable of unlimited progress; so that, of course,
there is nothing too high for him to aim  at, and
nothing too good or too great to become the object
of his aspirations.
This is all which I understand the Scriptures to
mean in the text, and in other passages where they
enjoin it upon us to be perfect, to go on unto per fection, and to become perfect men in Chlrist Jesus.
They do not hold up this perfection as something
of iwhich any Christian can as yet be personally
conscious, or on which he can look back as already
attained; but as the goal in the distance after which
all can and should continually aspire.  " Not as
though I had already attained," said an apostle,
"or were already perfect; but I follow after, if that
I may apprehend that for w]liich also I am appre'hended of Christ Jesus.  Brethren, I count not
myself to have apprehended; but this one thing I
do,- forgetting those things which are behind,
and reaching forth unto those things which are 
PERFECTION THE CHRISTIAN'S AIM. 447
before, I press toward the mark for the prize of
the high calling of God in Christ Jesus."
So far, then, and only so far, can the Christian
doctrine of human  perfectibility be fairly urged.
MAan is not only made capable of progress, but,
with the aids which the Gospel supplies, of unlimnited progress.   The  consequence is, that lhe
cannot only conceive of an ideal perfection, and
see that perfection realized in Jesus Christ, but
make it the object of his own aspirations, -not
in his dreams alone, but in actual life, as there
really is nothing in the way of his continually advancing towards it but the weakness or the perverseness of his own will.  It is man himself who
sets limits to his own wisdom and virtue; and this
he does by resting content with the degree of wisdom and virtue he has already attained, or by
not choosing to make the efforts or the sacrifices
necessary to further progress.  It is a false and
mean shifting of the blame from himself on something else, to say that these limits were ordained
by his nature, or his circumstances, or his Creator.
It never is so. I do not suppose that all men,
with their different capacities and opportunities,
are capable of an equally rapid progress; but I
do suppose that they are equally capable of inakinog some progress, and this, too, without limit,
intermission, or end. There are no exceptions to 
448 PERFECTION. THE CHRLSTA4N'S AIIM.
this law. It is the universal condition of humanity.  I know that we are not all spirit.  We
have a body as well as a soul, - a body with its
grovelling appetites and tastes, and earthly tendencies, to weigh us dowvn and keep us from realizing in this life many  of our brightest visions.
But even while we continue connected with this
body, and in some sense the slaves of it, we do
not wiork like slaves tethered to a pillar or a rock,
which will let us go so far and no farther.  We
work rather like slaves with a clog,- -we can go as
far as we please, only we must carry our clog with
us; but with this cheering consciousness from day
to day, that, the greater our progress in wisdom
and virtue, the  less the clog is felt, until it is
hardly perceptible  as an obstacle, or even as a
burden, ill our onward course.
And here let it be distinctly understood, that,
when we speak of human perfectibility, we do not
bring it in as a weak rhetorical flourish, or as a
fine-sounding  word  which will help to point a
moral or turn a period.  We  mean  all that we
assert; we bring into notice a sober fact, which
has much to do with the direction and govern~ment of every mnan's daily coinduct.  We  can go on
continually towards perfection, though we never
arrive at it; we can make it to be our goal in the
distance, after which we are continually to aspire, 
PERFECTION THE CHRISTJAN'S AIM. 449
and which in reality we call and ought continiiually
to approximate. If we stop in the way, it is of
our own accord, and not because we are obliged
to stop. We can go on, if we please. Some,
doubtless, can go on faster than others; but all
can go on.  This is the great truth which lies at
the bottom of every well-grounded and immortal
hope; which we are not at liberty to wink out of
sighlt, or overlay and bury up under miserable
commonplaces borrowed from superficial views of
life and human nature, or the shortsighted cuilning of this world.  Bring me the man who has
become so wise that he cannot become any. wiser.
You  cannot do it.  Bring me the man whlo has
become so good that hlie cannot become any better.
You cannot do it.  You  cannot fill a marn's mind
with knowledge until it cannot hold any more, as
you can fill a vessel with water until it eannot hold
any more. On the contrary, every new acquisition
of truthl only serves to enlarge his mind for the
comprehension of more truth, so that the more
he knows the more is he in a condition to learn.
And the same is likewise true of his progress in
virtue.  Because he mastered one bad habit yesterday,'that has not destroyed but only increased his
power to master another bad habit to-day; because
he put forth one new  virtue yesterday, that has
not destroyed but only increased his power to put
cc 
450  PERFECTION THE CHRISTIAN'S AIM.
forth another to-day: and so on, without any assignable limits.   The  Bible fixes no limits, our
nature fixes none; neither reason nor imagination
can fix any. But this ability to go on involves the
obligation to go on. If he stops, no matter in what
stage of his progress, he goes backward; for in
stopping he ceases to improve, - and this is not
merely not to obey, it is to disobey. He must
go on; and thus it is, and only thus, that the
path of the righteous, at first dinmly and  uncertainly seen, grows brighter and brighter to the
perfect day.
Let me add, that I express the doctrine too
tamely when I say that a man is capable of unlimited progress. There burns within him an
instinctive desire of growth, of ceaseless progress.
This principle begills to manifest itself long before
that of a cool and calculating selfishness.  You see
it in the boy, who is not satisfied unless he can spin
his top, or fly his kite, better and better; and he
would feel this desire, and find pleasure in its
gratification, even if he dwelt alone on a deso]&lte island, apart from all thoughts of interest or
rivalship.  Or if you call it rivalship, then I should
say that every man is made, in the very constitution of his nature, to be the rival of his past self.
We see it also in the artist, whose eye has caught
glimpses of an unearthly beauty, which hlie strives 
PERFECTIONV THE CIIRISTIAN'S AIM. 451
to bring out and embody on the canvas or in marble. And at last, perhaps, he succeeds; but now
his eye has caught glimpses of a beauty still more
transcendent, and he is not satisfied until he can
realize that. And thus it is that his ideal of excellence in art for ever flies before him; but not
in vain, as it only flies to beckon him on from excellence to excellence, and from glory to glory.
The same principle takes effect also in our whole
moral and spiritual life; for we are so made, that,
if our minds are in a healthy state, we are never
entirely satisfied with  what we  are.   We   are
always seeking to rival  and outdo  our former
selves; but no harm is likely to come of emulation or of competition, so long as a man is his own
rival: or of ambition, if it does but consist in this
inextinguishable thirst for excellence itself.
There is however one danger to be apprehended
firom a too exclusive occupation of the mind on
ideal visions of excellence and perfection, which I
ought to notice distinctly before I conclude.  Persons of this description, it has been said, "are deeply
impressed with the idea that they are required to be
perfect before God; but their idea of perfection
being altogether of an abstract and spiritual character, the zealous fulfilment of ordinary duties,
and a conscientious attention to common transactions, seem to have no affinity to their object; and 
452 PERFECTION THE CHRISTIAN'S AIM.
hence they direct all their longings to a state of
spiritual and vague feeling, of which they know
not either the form or limits, and thle desire of
whichl has no tendency but to unfit them for all
effectual and successful discharge of the duties of
life. It is perhaps the besetting error of those who
are commonly denominated serious and pious men;
and it is also not unfiequently the last refuge of
those, who, having run, ill preceding portions of
their lives, a career of thloughtlessness and folly,
at last betake themselves to this vain sighing after
perfection,- instead of devoting themselves, as true
wvisdoni would direct them, to a zealous and persevering reformation of their whole plan of life, and
to an effectual discharge of every duty pointed out
to them, as active and social, as religious and
moral beings."
There is much good sense and force in this caution; hut it only shows that the instinctive desire
of perfection, which is wroulght into our very constitution, may  l)e nmisconceived, perverted,  and
abused.  The idea of perfection is held up before
us, not to be the object of vain lonrgings and siglhings, but to cheer and sustain us in the many weary
steps we must take in its pursuit.  We are still to
reflect that we must actually traverse, with our own
feet, the almost measureless distance that separates
us from the far-off goal; and also, that, if a man is to 
PERFECTION THE CHRISTIANS AIM.  453
go round the globe, he cannot take any longer strides
than if he were going to the next village.  Besides,
perfection after all is our utltimate object; not our
next and immediate object.  Our next and immediate object, both as men  aind as Cliristians, is
always the faithful discharge of the common and
obvious and present duties  which press upon us in
that particular sphere of activity, be it high or lovw,
in wihich Divine Providence has placed us.
Only a small and comparatively inconsiderable
part of this unlimited progress in knowledge and
holiness is to be wrought out here, even by the
most diligent and best disposed.  But we can begin it here; perhaps I ought to say, we must begin
it here; for there may be somnething in the character of the first attainments of spiritual growth, in
consequence of which, if we throw away our opportunity of making them here, it may never be offered
to us again. Ileaven itself, for aught we know to
the contrary, may be a place in which it is impossible for a man to begin a life of faith and prayer.
However this may be, is it not a glorious thought
that we can begin the career of angels and archangels in these dwellings of dust?  Howv much
more glorious the thought, that, when these dwellings of dust are dissolved, we shall "be clothed
upon with our house which is from heaven!"  But
who shall dare to anticipate, even in imagination, 
454 PERFECTIONA THE CHRISTIAN'S AIM.
the stupendous disclosures that are to burst upon
the disembodied spirit? Of one thing, however,
we may be sure; a never-ending, ever-brightening
career of knowledge, improvement, and happiness
will still spread itself out before the followers of
Christ, -the same which they began here.  And,
along the innumerable ranks of the heavenly host,
a voice will still be heard proclaiming the law,
"Let us go on unto perfection!"
1834.
Cambridge: Press of John Wilson & Son.
a